--NRLF 


THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 


BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR. 


HANS   BRINKER;  or,  The  Silver  Skates. 

A  Story  of  Life  in  Holland.    By  MARY  MAPES  DODGB.    One  vol., 
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RHYMES  AND  JINGLES. 

By  MARY  MAPES  DODGE,  Author  of  "Hans  Brinker."     One  vol., 
small  410,  cloth,  with  profuse  illustrations,  $3 .00. 

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Theophilus  and  Others 


BY 


MARY  MAPES   DODGE 

AUTHOR  OF  "HANS  BRINKER;  OR,  THE  SILVER  SKATES," 
"RHYMES  AND  JINGLES,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG,  AND   COMPANY 

1876 


COPYRIGHT. 

MARY     MAPES      DODGE. 
1876. 


Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Rand,  Avery,  &>  Co.,  Boston. 


TO 


L.  G.  R. 


M184149 


PREFACE. 

THESE  tales  and  talks,  most  of  which  have  appeared 
in  various  periodicals,  are  now,  at  the  urgent  solicitation 
of  friends,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

Their  preparation  has  enlivened  hours  of,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

If  this  little  volume  shall,  &c.,  &c. 

In  conclusion,  the  author  begs,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

M.  M.  D. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

DOBBS'S  HORSE i 

PHILLY  AND  THE  REST 51 

OUR  AGGY 64 

INSANITY  OF  CAIN 95 

SHODDY 107 

MY  MYSTERIOUS  ENEMY 141 

WHAT  A  LITTLE  SONG  CAN  DO 158 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  WATERFALL 169 

SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  IN  A  POOR-HOUSE 185 

Miss  MALONY  ON  THE  CHINESE  QUESTION      ....  194 

OUR  DEBATING  SOCIETY  SKELETON 201 

SUNSHINE 207 

MIGRATORY  HUSBANDS 213 

UP  WITH  THE  TIMES 216 

MARCH.    WHAT  IT  HAS  DONE  FOR  us 221 

THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  BODY 236 

WOMAN'S  DRIVING 240 

UNITED  AGES 243 


DOBBS'S    HORSE. 


JIVE  years  ago,  Theophilus  and  I  prepared  to 
realize  the  dream  of  our  married  life.  We 
bought  a  cottage  in  the  country.  This  great 
event  really  sprang  from  a  tiny  speck  of  ivory  that  had 
made  more  stir  in  coming  into  this  world  than  the  most 
enormous  tusk  ever  thrust  by  elephant  into  an  Indian 
jungle.  I  need  not  add  that  it  was  our  Philly's  first 
tooth. 

Philly,  christened  Theophilus  after  his  father,  stood 
third  on  our  family  record.  Being  the  first  male  item,  he 
was  invested  with  peculiar  interest  Indeed,  to  our  dis 
cerning  eyes,  he  at  once  evinced  traits  which  lifted  him 
far  above  all  other  babies  in  the  created  world.  And 
now  the  dear  little  fellow  was  teething. 

Julie  and  Nelly  had  in  turn  wrestled  with  a  similar 
experience  ;  but  they  were  only  girls.  They  were  not 
even  silent  partners  in  the  prospective  BROWN  &  SON,  the 
very  thought  of  which  firm  had  made  Theophilus  look 
foolish,  and  strut  about  the  house,  before  Philly  was  a 
week  old.  It  was  only  when  our  parental  career  entered 


2  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

its  third  denticurate,  that  we  doubted  the  force  of  that 
modern  emendation,  — 

"  How  sharper  than  a  thankless  serpent,  'tis 
To  have  a  toothless  child  !  " 

What  wonder  that,  as  Philly,  growing  paler  and  weaker 
every  day,  kicked  and  screamed  his  protest  against  the 
existing  order  of  things,  Theophilus  became  less  pompous 
concerning  him ;  and  finally  bowed  his  head  meekly  at  my 
announcing  one  morning  at  breakfast,  that  "something 
must  be  done  at  once."  Every  truly  wedded  man  knows 
very  well  what  "  something  must  be  done  "  means  when 
his  wife  says  it.  It  means  penetration.  It  means  com 
pliance.  It  means  that  all  the  hints  lately  sown  on  his 
unsuspecting  mind  are  expected  to  burst  suddenly  into 
full  flower.  Therefore,  when  Theophilus  heard  me  say 
that  something  must  be  done,  he  at  once  responded,  — 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  try  country 
air  :  the  child  certainly  is  failing." 

The  point  was  gained.  My  hints  had  bloomed.  But 
this  was  only  a  bud,  and  I  wanted  the  full-blown  flower. 
So  I  remarked  —  with  the  air  of  a  woman  who  had  other 
things  to  think  of  —  that  he  was  right ;  the  baby  was 
failing ;  and,  as  far  as  my  experience  went,  I  thought  that 
a  country  hotel  or  boarding-house  would  soon  finish  him. 

"  Then  what  is  to  be  done  ? "  cried  Theophilus,  thor 
oughly  alarmed,  and  in  a  highly  receptive  condition. 

Lifting  the  lid  of  the  coffee-pot,  and  peering  into  it 
with  intense  interest,  I  remarked  abstractedly,  that  when 
people  wished  to  go  to  the  country,  and  had  objections 
to  boarding,  they  generally  hired  a  cottage  or  something 
of  that  kind. 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  3 

Now,  one  need  not  have  gone  through  Euclid,  nor 
studied  Whately,  to  know  that  this  pretty  breakfast  scene 
finally  resolved  itself  into  a  snug  little  country-box.  To 
be  candid,  Theophilus,  considering  our  city  expenses,  was 
not  in  a  position  to  purchase  just  such  a  place  as  we 
wanted.  Our  "  box  "  was  not  all  that  could  be  desired : 
still  it  was  in  the  country  ;  and  imagination  festooned  its 
porch  with  coming  vines,  and  rejoiced  in  the  proposed 
lawn  where  our  little  ones  should  roll  "  like  tumbled 
fruit."  The  advertisement  which  had  attracted  us  toward 
the  place,  described  it  as  being  well  stocked  with  trees  of 
every  description.  In  fact,  we  purchased  it  mainly  on  the 
representations  of  this  same  advertisement.  Theophilus' 
had  time  to  pay  it  only  a  flying  visit  after  business  hours ; 
and,  as  the  owner  declared  that  no  less  than  "  six  other 
gentlemen  "  were  eager  to  pounce  upon  the  prize,  we 
really  did  not  dare  to  deliberate. 

Accordingly,  Theoph  hired  a  man-of-all-work,  and,  be 
fore  despatching  him  to  the  scene  of  action,  gave  him  a 
written  list  of  orders,  foremost  among  which  were  special 
instructions  concerning  the  aforesaid  vines  and  lawn. 
There  was  to  be  a  fine  vegetable-patch  in  the  rear ;  and, 
as  well  as  I  could  make  out  from  Theoph's  chart,  the 
space  between  lawn  and  kitchen-garden  was  to  be  filled 
with  roses,  honeysuckles,  shrubs  of  all  kinds,  and  showy 
annuals  of  every  hue  imaginable. 

"  Aren't  you  afraid,  Theoph,  dear,"  I  suggested,  "  you 
will  have  rather  too  much  ?  I  like  the  idea  of  all  this 
luxuriance ;  but  we  must  avoid  confusion  of  effect,  you 
know.  Beside,  it  appears  to  me,  you  have  left  scarcely 
room  for  us  to  walk  about  among  the  flowers." 


4  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

"  Better  to  have  too  much  than  too  little,  Emma.  It 
will  be  very  easy  to  '  thin  out '  after  we  are  settled,  if  we 
find  the  garden  overcrowded.  As  we  have  named  the 
place  '  Flowery  Grove,'  it  strikes  me  we  can  hardly  have 
too  many  flowers." 

"  That's  true,  Theoph :  how  delightful  it  will  be  !  We'll 
sit  out  under  the  vines  when  you  come  up  from  town  in 
the  afternoon  (so  different  from  that  bleak  piazza  at 
Stamford  ) ;  and,  while  the  children  are  rolling  and  chas 
ing  each  other  about  the  lawn,  we  can  read  and  talk  to 
our  hearts'  content.  Oh,  it  will  be  grand  !  " 

Theoph  kissed  me,  and  said  in  his  cheerful  way  that  the 
very  prospect  made  me  look  bright  and  rosy  again  ;  but 
he  shook  his  head  gravely  when  he  heard  Philly's  feeble 
cry,  and  asked  why  in  the  world  we  couldn't  go  there  at 
once.  The  gardener's  wife  must  have  the  cottage  all 
cleaned  by  this  time,  he  said ;  and  I  had  nothing  to  do 
but  to  go. 

With  the  moths  already  flying  about,  it  was  trying  to  a 
woman  with  five  Brussels  carpets  and  all  the  parlor  cur 
tains  and  furniture  on  her  mind,  —  to  say  nothing  of  the 
summer's  shopping,  —  to  hear  the  grand  business  of  mov 
ing  into  the  country  for  a  summer  spoken  of  so  cavalierly ; 
but  I  conquered  the  outraged  spirit  within,  and  even 
entered  into  an  amicable  consultation  with  Theophilus 
concerning  the  amount  of  furniture  required  for  our  five- 
room  cottage. 

His  counsel  was  invaluable.  Better  to  take  up  almost 
nothing  in  the  furniture  line,  he  said.  We  needed  only 
to  fit  out  a  comfortable  sitting-room,  —  something  a  little 
tasteful,  you  know  ;  four  or  five  bedrooms  for  the  tamily ; 


DOBBS  ^S  HORSE.  5 

a  dining-room  of  some  sort ;  and  —  oh  yes  !  —  a  spare 
room  by  all  means,  for  he  meant  to  have  Dobbs  up  there 
half  the  time  ;  and,  above  all,  plenty  of  kitchen  equip 
ments,  for  if  there  was  any  thing  in  the  world  he  did  hate, 
it  was  a  half-way  dinner. 

Striving  to  look  as  much  like  St.  Cecilia  as  possible, 
and  yet  retain  an  impressive  cast  of  countenance,  I  ven 
tured  to  suggest,  at  this  point,  that  there  were  but  four 
rooms  in  the  house  besides  the  kitchen. 

"  No  !  "  exclaimed  Theophilus,  staring  innocently. 

"  I  have  counted  them,  my  dear,"  I  replied,  with  con 
centrated  quietness  of  tone. 

"You've  counted  them  wrong,  then,  my  love." 

"  Now,  Theoph,  do  be  reasonable.  There's  the  large 
sitting-room  on  the  first  floor :  you  surely  don't  call  the 
crockery-closet  between  it  and  the  kitchen  a  room?" 

"  No,"  said  Theophilus  meekly,  at  the  same  time  hold 
ing  up  the  first  finger  of  his  left  hand  to  represent  the  sit 
ting-room. 

"  Then,  on  the  second  floor  there's  the  small  bedroom 
for  Ellen,  over  the  hall." 

Up  went  another  finger. 

"  Well,  the  little  room  makes  two  ;  then  there's  the  large 
front  one,  where  the  ceiling  was  bro  "  — 

"  By  George  ! "  cried  Theoph,  dropping  his  patent  tally 
in  a  twinkling,  "  there's  Dobbs  !  " 

Alas  !  Dobbs  was  indeed  crossing  the  street. 

My  husband  was  soon  in  the  hall,  holding  the  front  door 
wide  open. 

"  Hallo !  old  fellow,  how  are  you  ? "  cried  a  hearty 
voice. 


6  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  All  right,  thank  you.     Walk  in,  walk  in." 

Then  there  was  a  slight  shuffling  of  boots  on  the  oil 
cloth  ;  and  in  the  next  instant  I  heard  the  parlor  blinds 
thrust  violently  open. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  Mr.  Dobbs  ;  "  that  is  something 
like.  Now  one  can  see  out.  Why  in  the  world,  Brown, 
do  all  you  married  men  keep  your  parlors  so  dark  ? " 

Whatever  Theoph's  reply  may  have  been,  it  is  to  this 
day  locked  in  the  bosom  of  Mr.  Dobbs,  for  I  couldn't  hear 
it.  The  question  made  a  deep  impression  upon  me,  how 
ever  ;  and  after  that  I  took  care  to  have  the  parlors  rather 
lighter  than  formerly. 

Why  Mr.  Dobbs  should  have  been  so  fond  of  Mr. 
Brown,  and  why  Mr.  Brown  so  doted  on  Mr.  Dobbs,  are 
questions  that  I  never  expect  to  solve  while  in  the  flesh. 
To  spiritual  ken  the  mystery  may  be  revealed  clear  as  day. 
So  I  must  be  patient,  and  content  myself  by  remarking 
that,  in  all  the  annals  of  masculine  friendship,  I  have 
never  met  with  so  remarkable  a  case. 

Mr.  Dobbs  was  good  enough  in  his  way,  but  no  more 
like  Theoph  than  I  to  Hercules.  In  the  first  place,  he 
was  one  of  the  restless  sort,  or,  as  he  forcibly  expressed 
it,  "  always  on  the  go."  He  was  a  superb  gymnast  too : 
Theoph  never  moved  a  muscle  unnecessarily,  and  looked 
forward  to  a  heaven  of  perfect  rest.  Theoph  liked  style 
and  elegance :  Mr.  Dobbs  despised  both.  Mr.  Dobbs  was 
soothing  and  conciliatory :  Theophilus  was  an  inveterate 
tease.  Mr.  Dobbs  evinced  a  peculiar  distaste  for  children  : 
Theoph  had  doted  on  them  since  his  own  toddlehood. 
Mr.  Dobbs  was  never  unconquerable  :  Theoph's  stubborn 
ness,  when  fairly  aroused,  amounted  to  inspiration.  The- 


DOBBS' S  HORSE.  7 

ophilus  was  extremely  fond  of  music :  Mr.  Dobbs  wished 
that  the  heavenly  maid  had  died  young.  Dobbs  delighted 
to  shock  one  with  his  moral  and  social  heterodoxy :  Theoph 
was  a  model  of  propriety.  Theoph  was  fastidious,  too,  in 
his  personal  habits :  Dobbs  was  careless  to  a  fault.  Theoph 
revelled  in  the  choicest  literature  :  Mr.  Dobbs  never  read 
a  line  if  he  could  avoid  it. 

Yet,  I  repeat,  these  two  men  clung  to  each  other  with  a 
love  marvellous  to  behold.  The  friendship  of  Damon 
and  Pythias  was  as  nothing  compared  to  it ;  for  the  two 
Syracusans  were  willing  only  to  die  for  each  other ;  and 
these  were  willing  to  live  in  friendship  in  spite  of  differ 
ences  of  opinion  and  taste. 

Therefore,  when  Theophilus  discovered  that  there  would 
be  no  spare  room  for  his  dear  Dobbs,  he  stood  transfixed 
with  dismay  and  a  sense  of  desolation.  But  Dobbs,  noth 
ing  discouraged,  assured  him  it  was  a  matter  of  no  conse 
quence  at  all:  he  could  be  stowed  away  anywhere,  —  in 
the  barn,  under  a  hen-coop,  on  the  kitchen-dresser,  for  that 
matter. 

"But,"  exclaimed  my  spouse,  forgetting  proprieties  in 
his  despair,  "  there  isn't  any  dresser,  hang  it !  " 

"Well,"  rejoined  Dobbs  soothingly,  "there'll  be  a  sofa 
or  a  table ;  or  we'll  swing  a  hammock  somewhere  :  never 
fear,  man." 

Just  then  Nelly,  our  bright-eyed  little  three-year-old,  ran 
into  the  room. 

Mr.  Dobbs  felt,  that,  as  a  friend  of  the  family,  he  must 
notice  her. 

"  Come  here,  sis ; "  and  two  fingers  beckoned  her 
mechanically. 


8  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

Nelly  drew  back.  A  child  can  always  detect  the  taint 
of  Herod,  cover  it  as  one  may. 

It  was  all  the  same  to  Mr.  Dobbs:  he  had  done  his 
duty.  Still,  for  friendship's  sake,  he  would  add  one  more 
touch ;  so  he  resumed,  looking  sympathetically  first  at  us, 
and  then  at  the  ruddy  little  creature,  — 

"  Ah,  yes !  teething,  I  think  you  said.  Yes  :  she  looks 
badly  "  — 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Theophilus.  "That's  not  the 
baby."  Dobbs  fell  back  in  a  mock  swoon.  I  was  too 
indignant  to  make  any  comment.  Theophilus,  I  am  sure, 
would  have  been  disgusted  with  such  stupidity  in  any  other 
man ;  but  it  was  only  irresistibly  funny  and  fascinating  in 
Dobbs. 

The  gentleman  redeemed  himself,  however,  before  the 
evening  was  over,  by  covering  the  chandeliers  for  me. 
Theophilus  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  offering  to 
wrap  up  the  moon.  I  saw  him  wince,  though,  when  his 
Damon,  taking  off  his  coat,  carelessly  tossed  it  on  the 
piano,  before  proceeding  to  business. 

We  were  in  our  country-box  at  last;  and,  before  we 
were  fairly  settled,  Philly  began  to  show  decided  signs 
of  improvement.  That  was  the  main  thing,  of  course. 
But  how  shall  I  describe  the  sense  of  disappointment 
with  which  we  gradually  awoke  to  the  conviction  that  our 
imagination  had  been  far  more  fertile  than  our  land  ?  that 
the  vines  and  flowers  which  had  sprung  up  so  profusely 
there  were  of  exceeding  slow  growth  in  actual  soil  ?  The 
"trees  of  every  description"  were  so  young  and  tender 
that  they  were  visible  only  from  particular  points  of  view. 


DOBIJS'S  HORSE.  9 

Bare  was  our  porch  in  June ;  and,  but  for  a  neighbor's 
hint,  bare  it  would  have  remained.  Our  gardener's  vine 
was  one  of  the  "  slow  and  sure  "  kind,  warranted  to  cover 
the  lattice  in  five  years ;  whereas  Theoph  and  I  were 
hardly  willing  to  wait  as  many  days. 

The  hint  proved  cheering,  however ;  for,  with  our  neigh 
bor's  assistance,  we  planted  morning-glory  seed  on  one 
side  of  the  porch,  and  Madeira  roots  on  the  other ;  and, 
1  am  happy  to  say,  Theoph  and  I  did  sit  under  the  shadow 
of  its  vines  before  the  summer  was  over — that  is,  when 
the  mosquitoes  allowed  us  the  privilege. 

As  for  the  velvety  lawn,  if  a  wide  expanse  bearing  six 
stones  to  each  blade  of  grass  constitutes  a  lawn,  we  had 
one  with  a  vengeance.  The  flower-garden  also  fell  short 
of  our  anticipations,  certainly  as  far  as  luxuriance  was 
concerned.  Most  of  the  "  showy  annuals  "  were  like  their 
modest  sisters  alluded  to  by  Gray:  they  "  blushed  unseen," 
if  they  ever  blushed  at  all ;  for  we  never  saw  any  thing 
but  their  tombstones,  or  rather  the  labels  which,  at  the 
time  of  planting,  Mike  had  carefully  erected  over  the 
grave  of  each  particular  variety. 

The  kitchen-garden  was  more  promising ;  and  that  was 
some  consolation,  after  all.  For  what,  as  our  neighbor  Miss 
Kimso  observed,  are  so  delightful  as  pure,  sweet,  country 
vegetables,  fresh  from  "  your  own  vines  and  fig-trees  ?  " 
It  was  a  peculiarity  of  Miss  Kimso,  be  it  known,  never  on 
any  account  to  use  a  quotation  correctly,  though  she  was 
overflowing  with  them  at  all  hours,  and  upon  all  occasions. 
They  invariably  came  either  in  the  wrong  place  or  in 
the  wrong  way. 

Blithe  and  agile,  apparently  nearing  her  fortieth  sum- 

2* 


10  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

mer,  with  light  curls  falling,  "  in  a  spring-like  way,"  on 
either  side  of  a  face  over  which  Time  had  tenderly  drawn 
his  finger,  pressing  hardest  round  the  mouth  and  eyes,  she 
diffused  an  electric  influence  that  had  light  rather  than 
life  in  it.  Her  short,  quick  footfall  impressed  one  with 
a  sense  of  the  instability  of  things  generally.  If  there 
were  strength  anywhere,  it  was  in  her  eye  ;  but  it  was  the 
strength  of  banded  sentiments  rather  than  of  thought,  — 
of  kindliness  rather  than  of  sacrifice.  That  a  warm  heart 
was  fluttering  somewhere  in  her  wisp-like  little  body,  we 
soon  had  ample  proof.  From  the  evening  of  our  arrival, 
when  she  ran  over  with  a  kettle  of  hot  tea  and  a  dish  of 
buttered  biscuit,  saying,  by  way  of  apology,  that  she  was  a 
stranger,  but  "  were  we  not  all  men  and  brothers  ? "  we 
felt  that  we  should  like  her,  whatever  might  be  her  pecu 
liarities. 

We  soon  discovered  that  she  lived  alone  with  a  colored 
servant  in  her  little  cottage  near  by ;  but  we  did  not  know 
for  some  time  of  the  shadow  that  in  .early  life  had  fallen 
upon  her,  and  that  was  now  only  temporarily  lifted. 

After  a  while  we  began  to  feel  quite  comfortable  in  our 
new  abode.  The  servants  ceased  to  complain  that  the 
place  was  "  so  dreary-like."  As  for  the  children,  they  were 
in  Elysium,  and  revelled  and  romped  from  morning  till 
night.  Here  and  there  a  flower  bloomed  on  some  solitary 
spike ;  and  a  faint  greenish  hue  broke  out  in  spots  over  our 
lawn.  Our  one  surviving  pear-tree  was  an  unfailing  source 
of  expectant  admiration  ;  and  Miss  Kimso's  cow,  with  a 
tinkling  bell  swinging  from  its  neck,  served  to  give  a  rustic 
charm  to  the  scene.  Besides,  the  birds  exerted  themselves 
when  they  found  we  were  not  dull-eared  country-folk ;  and 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  II 

crickets  and  katydids  gave  a  pulse  to  the  very  air  we 
breathed.  Theoph  found  comfort  in  the  dozens  of  books 
which  he  had  smuggled  among  the  baggage,  though  the 
children's  muddy  shoes  and  their  freckled  little  noses  dis 
tressed  him  exceedingly. 

The  crowning  joy  of  all,  however,  was  our  horse  and 
rockaway.  Theophilus  and  I  had  held  many  a  consulta 
tion  before  we  decided  upon  this  piece,  or  rather  these 
pieces,  of  extravagance.  But  there  was  a  snug  little  barn 
on  the  premises,  and  Philly  needed  the  rides  so  much,  and, 
in  short,  we  wished  it ;  and  when  did  any  one  ever  cultivate 
a  wish  without  producing  a  plentiful  crop  of  good  reasons 
in  its  favor  ? 

I  may  inform  the  trusty  reader  that  our  rockaway  was 
second-hand ;  as  good  as  new,  however,  or  even  better,  if 
the  representations  of  Messrs.  Jacobs  &  Co.,  carriage  deal 
ers,  could  be  relied  upon.  The  horse  was  represented  to 
be  a  rare  combination  of  physical  perfection  and  all  the 
cardinal  virtues.  Certainly  a  prettier,  more  graceful  ani 
mal,  never  trod  in  harness.  His  ways,  too,  were  so  grand ! 
He  would  paw  the  earth  with  impatient  hoof,  and  curve  his 
neck,  as  though  he  felt  the  blood  of  old  Bucephalus  cours 
ing  in  his  veins.  The  daintiness  of  his  appetite  was 
charming ;  and  for  a  while  our  great  pastime,  whenever  he 
was  brought  to  the  door,  was  to  pull  up  spears  of  grass  for 
him,  and  put  lumps  of  sugar,  one  by  one,  into  his  lordly 
mouth.  I  used  often  to  lay  my  cheek  against  his  warm 
neck,  and  fancy  myself  Di  Vernon,  until  one  day  Mike 
startled  me  with, — 

"  Have  a  care,  or  he'll  be  steppin'  on  yer  foot,  mum  ! 
He  was  near  takin'  the  toes  off  meself  this  mormn'." 


12  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

I  sprang  back,  knocking  Julie  and  Nelly  over  in  the 
act. 

"  Why,  Mike,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  there's  any 
thing  vicious  about  him,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  indade,  mum,  perraps  he's  not  afther  knowin' 
that  your  fate's  any  tinderer  thin  his  own  is,"  he  answered, 
adjusting  the  harness  as  he  spoke ;  "  and  the  flies  has  him 
oneasy  like.  Would  ye  be  wantin'  me  to  drive,  mum,  or 
is  the  gentleman  intendin'  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  shall  drive,"  answered  Theophilus,  stepping  from  the 
porch. 

When  we  were  all  in,  —  two  on  the  front  seat,  and  two 
on  the  back,  —  Mike  retreated  a  few  steps,  and,  without 
raising  his  eyes,  said,  — 

"  Would  ye  be  stoppin'  at  the  village,  sir  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  replied  Theoph,  tightening  the  reins.     "  Why  ?  " 
"There's  hay  a-wantin,'  sir,  if  ye'd  plaze  spake  till  them 
about  it  down  to  the  bridge." 

Theoph  nodded,  and  off  we  started.  The  horse  went 
beautifully,  and  his  driver  was  in  high  spirits. 

"  There's  a  stride  for  you ! "  he  exclaimed,  after  a 
moment's  silence.  "  Free  as  air ;  isn't  it  ?  " 

If  Theophilus  has  one  weakness  greater  than  another,  it 
is  for  fine  horses. 

After  we  had  stopped  at  the  village  post-office,  attended 
to  a  little  marketing,  and  left  an  order  for  the  hay,  Theoph 
turned  the  horse's  head  homeward. 

"  I  say,  Em,  this  is  a  glorious  animal !  I  can  sell  him 
in  the  fall  for  double  his  cost.  Why  in  the  world  Jacobs 
let  me  have  him  for  a  hundred  and  fifty,  I  cannot  con 
ceive." 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  13 

"  He  belonged  to  Jacobs's  brother,  you  remember,  who 
was  going  unexpectedly  to  California,"  I  said. 

"Yes,"  returned  Theoph ;  "but  Jacobs  was  probably 
ignorant  of  his  worth.  He  said  he  knew  nothing  at  all 
about  horse-flesh.  He's  descended  from  the  famous  Black 
Prince,  you  know." 

"  Who  ?     Jacobs  ?  "  I  asked,  in  astonishment. 

"  No :  the  horse.  It  strikes  me,  Emma,"  continued 
Theophilus  between  his  teeth,  "you're  inclined  to  be 
rather  facetious  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,  darling  !  go  on.  I  love  to  hear  you  talk 
about  the  beautiful  creature." 

"Who?    Jacobs?" 

Of  course  I  pouted  now.  Theoph  would  have  been 
quite  restored  to  good  humor  by  his  own  joke,  had  not  the 
horse's  tail  become  heavily  entangled  in  the  lines  at  this 
moment. 

"  That  rascally  Mike  has  forgotten  the  fly-net  again ! 
The  fellow  is  too  careless  for  any  thing !  " 

"  It  is  provoking,"  I  assented  amiably ;  "  especially  as  I 
called  to  him,  while  he  was  harnessing  the  horse,  not  to 
forget  it." 

"  By  the  way,  Em,"  said  Theophilus,  freeing  the  lines 
with  a  skilful  flourish,  "  I  heard  you  calling  from  the  win 
dow,  '  Mi-eke,  Mi-eke ! '  and  do  you  know,  dear,  it  jarred 
me.  If  the  man  had  any  other  name,  I  should  not  mind 
it ;  but  '  Mike  '  is  so  horribly  plebeian  !  Mike  here,  Mike 
there  :  it  really  sounds  badly,  indeed  it  does,  and  has  an 
unhappy  effect  upon  the  children.  This  nicknaming  of 
servants  is  terrible." 

"  Very  well,"  said  I  meekly :  "  we  can  call  him  '  Michael,' 
if  you  prefer  it."  a 


14  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  That  is  not  much  better,"  persisted  Theoph.  "  Call  him 
by  his  surname  :  that's  the  only  way,  —  O'Brian,  or  Riley, 
or  whatever  it  may  be.  Everybody  does  so  nowadays." 

So  when  we  drove  up  to  the  front-door,  and  our  master 
of  horse  duly  presented  himself,  Theoph  accosted  him 
abruptly  with,  — 

"  Here,  fellow,  what  is  your  last  name  ?  " 

"  Me  last  name,  sir,"  stammered  the  man  in  great  as 
tonishment,  "  I  never  had  but  the  one,  sir." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  It's  Mike,  it  is,  yer  honor." 

"  Mike  what?"  roared  Theophilus. 

"Och!  I  ax  yer  pardon,  sir,  —  Mike  Deerey.  It's 
yerself  writ  it  in  yer  buk  the  day  I  was  afther  comin'  to  ye, 
sir." 

"  It  will  sound  beautifully,  Theoph,  won't  it  ? "  said  I 
wickedly,  as  we  entered  the  cottage  together.  "  I  can  say, 
*  Bring  the  horse  to  the  door  at  five,  Deerey.'  '  Don't  for 
get  the  fly-net,  Deerey.'  Nothing  could  be  more  aristo 
cratic." 

Theoph  tried  to  laugh  good-naturedly;  but  I  know  it 
was  something  besides  our  Deerey's  carelessness  that 
caused  him  to  be  discharged  about  a  week  afterward. 

One  bright  morning  in  June,  it  occurred  to  me  that 
there  could  not  be  the  slightest  possible  harm  in  taking 
the  nurse  and  children  to  the  village  myself.  The  rocka- 
way  was  in  perfect  order ;  and  Prince  was  so  gentle,  that, 
as  Jacobs  had  said,  a  baby  could  manage  him.  Besides, 
Miss  Kimso  would  be  delighted  to  accompany  me:  she 
declared  that  she  wasn't  at  all  afraid  of  horses,  and  would 
gladly  "hold  the  noble  Rosinante "  while  I  was  in  the  store. 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  1 5 

Accordingly  our  party  was  soon  ready  to  start.  Miss 
Kimso  and  I  were  on  the  front  seat ;  and  Ellen  the  nurse, 
Philly,  and  the  two  little  girls,  were  compactly  stowed 
away  in  the  rear. 

It  was  a  lovely  day ;  and  we  enjoyed  our  ride  to  the 
utmost.  Philly  actually  crowed  with  delight;  and  his 
sisters,  when  they  ceased  complaining  that  they  were  "  so 
cwowded,"  laughed  and  sang  with  glee. 

A  pleasant  letter  from  my  dear  friend  Mary  C was 

handed  me  at  the  village  post-office ;  our  purchases  were 
made,  and  we  were  turning  out  of  the  village ;  when  sud 
denly  an  unusual  sound  in  that  region  broke  upon  us,  —  the 
sound  of  a  brass  band  in  the  distance,  playing  that  inspirit 
ing  air,  "The  Campbells  are  coming."  It  proceeded  from 
a  showy-looking  wagon  that  was  moving  slowly  toward  us. 
The  effect  was  really  charming.  Nelly  cried,  "So-jers, 
so-jers ! "  and  but  for  the  nurse  would  have  sprung  from  the 
rockaway  in  her  excitement.  I  chirruped  to  Prince,  and 
gave  myself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  the  moment. 

The  notes  grew  more  distinct.  Flags  were  waved  mer 
rily  from  the  approaching  wagon,  and  Master  Prince  stood 
stock-still,  and  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Miss  Kimso,  rolling  up  her  eyes,  "  '  Music 
hath  charms  to  soothe  the  savage  beast : '  let  him  listen." 

Prince  did  listen ;  and,  listening,  he  concluded  to  accom 
pany  the  music  with  a  merry  dance.  He  pranced,  he 
ambled,  he  chasse'ed ;  and  finally  he  stood  on  his  hind  legs, 
and  bowed  to  an  imaginary  partner  before  commencing 
the  grand  galopade. 

Ellen  and  the  children  screamed,  Miss  Kimso  with  a 
shriek  clutched  at  the  reins,  and  I  instantly  recalled  every 
cross  word  I  had  ever  said  to  Theophilus. 


16  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

In  a  moment  two  men  had  the  descendant  of  the  Black 
Prince  by  the  head,  and  were  speaking  soothingly  to  him. 

"Whoa,  boy!  whoa,  boy!" 

His  royal  highness,  after  a  few  more  flourishes  and  fan 
tastic  turns,  subsided  into  a  pafhetic  tremble. 

"  Jim,"  said  one  of  the  men  in  a  low  tone,  "  there's  one 
of  them  blasted  circuses  a-comin ' :  you'd  best  drive  the 
ladies  home.  It's  Miss  Brown,  you  know, —  the  Yorkers 
that  bought  Weeks's  cottage.  Couldn't  that  young  woman 
there  on  the  back  seat  walk  home  ?  "  he  continued,  looking 
toward  Ellen,  and  raising  his  voice.  "  It  ain't  more'n  a 
mile  an'  a  'alf." 

"It's  two"  muttered  the  other  man  :  "it's  a  good  two." 

Ellen  was  glad  enough  to  get  out. 

"  An'  will  I  carry  the  child,  mum  ? "  she  asked,  compos 
ing  her  skirts  with  one  hand  while  supporting  Philly,  pro 
fessionally,  with  the  other. 

"  Oh  no,  he's  too  heavy !  "  cried  Miss  Kimso,  jumping 
nimbly  over  to  the  back  seat.  "  Here,  hand  him  to  me, 
the  sweet,  budding  innocent.  I'll  take  good  care  of  him." 

Jim  sprang  in  beside  me,  and  drove  off  cautiously  amidst 
a  shower  of  "  Thank  yous  "  from  Miss  Kimso  and  myself. 

Just  before  we  came  to  a  bend  in  the  road,  Master 
Prince  began  to  prick  up  his  ears  again.  Jim  gave  me 
the  reins  in  a  twinkling.  "  Good  land !  "  he  exclaimed, 
jumping  out,  and  seizing  the  animal  by  the  head,  "  he 
smells  somethin'  a-comin',  depend  on  it ! " 

Indeed  he  did, — two  great  elephants,  and  a  party  of 
horsemen.  We  could  see  them  distinctly  now. 

"  Keep  yer  seats,  ladies :  there  ain't  no  danger ! " 
panted  Jim,  as  the  horse's  head  gave  his  arm  some  pretty 
vigorous  jerks.  "  There,  whoa,  boy  !  whoa,  whoa  !  " 


DOBBS  ^S  HORSE.  I/ 

Strange  to  say,  Prince  faced  the  elephant  more  bravely 
than  he  did  the  music.  He  twitched  and  trembled  all 
over  at  first,  and  seemed  ready  to  drop  with  fear ;  but  the 
man's  voice  and  touch  gradually  re-assured  him. 

It  was  an  old  elephant  and  her  young  one.  What  won 
der  that  a  poor  little  horse  should  quiver  and  start  beside 
that  mighty  bulk  and  ponderous  tread  ? 

The  young  elephant  stalked  closely  beside  its  mother, 
and  by  the  senseless  flourishes  of  its  trunk,  and  the 
twitches  of  its  stumpy  little  tail,  betrayed  a  youthful  spirit 
that  time  and  worldly  cares  had  quite  subdued  in  the  parent. 

"  O  mamma !  "  cried  Julie,  as  soon  as  her  astonishment 
would  allow  her  to  speak,  —  "  O  mamma,  do  look !  see 
the  dear  little  baby  elephant !  Isn't  he  too  cunnin'  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear,  very,"  I  responded  abstractedly,  looking 
anxiously  at  Prince,  who  was  about  one-third  of  the  dear 
little  creature's  size. 

We  reached  home  without  any  further  mishap.  The- 
ophilus  and  Mr.  Dobbs  who  had  come  up  by  an  early  train, 
stood  by  the  gate  to  welcome  us. 

Theoph  gave  one  of  his  queer  looks,  as  he  spied  the 
coatless  youth  beside  me  ;  but  Dobbs  took  in  the  thing  at 
a  glance  : 

"  Aha  !     Horse  has  been  a  little  fractious,  hey  ?  " 

Then  you  should  have  heard  Theoph  ! 

Text :  Woman's  driving. 

The  next  day,  after  dinner,  my  husband  blandly  proposed 
a  drive.  "  Will  you  go,  Em  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Not  to-day,  dear,  thank  you.  I  have  lost  my  confi 
dence  in  Prince  somewhat." 

2* 


1 8  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  Nonsense,  Em !  I'd  like  to  see  the  horse  I  can't 
manage.  Besides,  one  doesn't  meet  elephants  in  this 
latitude  every  day.  Put  on  your  things,  love :  we'll  drive 
to  Llewellyn  Park." 

Llewellyn  Park  was  always  a  conquering  temptation  with 
me.  While  putting  on  my  bonnet,  I  saw  our  new  man 
Kelly  drive  Prince  to  the  door.  The  beautiful  creature 
looked  so  gentle,  and  pawed  the  ground  so  reflectively, 
that  my  foolish  fears  were  gone  in  an  instant.  I  called 
out  of  the  window  to  my  spouse,  — 

"  Shall  we  take  Philly,  dear  ?  " 

"Certainly,  by  all  means,"  he  replied,  "if  the  little 
dumpling  is  not  too  heavy  for  you." 

"I'll  hold  her,"  called  up  Mr.  Dobbs,  looking  utterly 
wretched  in  an  instant. 

"  Oh,  no ! "  laughed  Theoph.  "  Let  the  nurse  come 
also,  Em.  There  is  plenty  of  room."  Then  I  heard 
him  say  in  a  severe  undertone  to  his  friend,  — 

"  How  often  must  I  tell  you,  Dobbs,  that  the  baby  is  a 
boy?  —  Theophilus  Brown,  junior:  now  don't  forget  it 
again." 

"  Beg  his  pardon,  really;  but  you  see  the  name  '  Philly ' 
misled  me.  I  thought  it  was  Phillis.  The  rest  of  the 
children  are  all  girls  ;  ain't  they,  Brown  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a 
tone  of  deep  interest. 

We  were  off  at  last.  Prince,  thoroughly  penitent,  never 
went  better.  If  any  thing,  he  showed  scarcely  enough 
spirit :  still  he  was  superb,  and  Theoph  and  I  were  very 
proud  of  him,  especially  as  people  in  the  neighborhood 
began  by  this  time  to  know  who  we  were. 

"He's  a  free    goer,"  said  Mr.  Dobbs,  regarding  him 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  19 

critically.  "  Hallo  !  he  doesn't  interfere  a  little  in  the 
hind  legs,  does  he  ?  " 

"Of  course  not,"  rejoined  Theoph  scornfully.  "Why, 
look  at  him,  man !  There's  not  a  sounder  set  of  legs  any 
where.  Did  you  notice  his  breadth  of  chest  ? " 

"  No ;  but  I  see  he's  uncommon  high  in  the  flanks. 
He'd  make  a  racer,  Brown,  that  horse  would !  " 

Theoph  grew  radiant. 

"  Give  him  the  reins,  Brown.  George  !  what  a  neck  he 
has  !  He's  kind,  too,  depend  upon  it.  Not  one  animal 
in  a  hundred  but  would  have  run  like  all  creation,  coming 
suddenly  upon  an  elephant  in  that  way." 

"  Certainly,"  assented  Theoph,  growing  ecstatic:  "  I  don't 
want  any  better  test  than  that.  You  could  walk  him  up 
to  a  whole  menagerie,  sir !  " 

Just  then  we  heard  a  shout,  and  a  muddy  white  pig  came 
dashing  through  a  farm-gate. 

I  have  a  vague  remembrance  of  clutching  wildly  for  the 
baby,  of  seeing  Dobbs  high  up  in  the  air,  of  my  cheek 
being  dragged  against  the  gravel,  and  of  scrambling  to  my 
feet  just  in  time  to  see  Prince  dashing  off  madly  in  the 
distance  with  our  rockaway,  minus  top  and  passengers. 

What  bundle  was  that  lying  heavily  on  the  bushes  be 
side  the  road  ?  Theoph  was  picking  it  up.  It  was  Philly. 
Paralyzed  at  the  sight,  I  managed  to  gasp  out,  "  O  The 
oph  !  is  he  dead  ? " 

"  No,  all  right !  "  he  shouted,  clasping  the  terrified  little 
creature  to  his  heart.  "There's  not  a  scratch  on  him, 
thanks  to  those  good  bushes  !  " 

"  Hallo,  Brown  ! "  exclaimed  a  dusty  figure  sitting  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  ;  "  allow  an  old  sinner  to  correct  you. 
I'd  give  a  little  credit  to  Providence,  if  I  were  you." 


20  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

"Dobbs,  my  dear  fellow,  you  all  safe  too?  Yes,  in 
deed,  we  have  reason  to  thank  Providence  !  "  he  exclaimed 
fervently. 

"  For  which,  the  escape  or  the  accident  ? "  asked  the 
incorrigible  Dobbs,  getting  up  slowly,  and  knocking  the 
dust  from  his  clothes. 

"For  both,"  returned  Theoph  solemnly.  "Good  gra 
cious,  Emma,  look  at  your  cheek  !  " 

I  couldn't  very  well  look  at  my  cheek,  under  the  circum 
stances  ;  and,  as  I  certainly-felt  no  sensation  there,  I 
scarcely  noticed  his  exclamation,  but  ran  over  to  Ellen,  the 
nurse,  who  sat  upon  the  grass  looking  wildly  about  her. 

Theophilus  and  Mr.  Dobbs  stood  her  upon  her  feet,  and 
worked  her  arms  like  pump-handles.  There  were  cer 
tainly  no  bones  broken.  Yet  she  seemed  bewildered,  and 
unable  to  walk. 

"  O  Theoph  dear !  she  is  injured  internally,"  I  cried  in 
distress.  "  One  of  you  must  run  to  Orange  for  a  doctor." 

"  Howly  Fathers !  where  am  I  ? "  broke  forth  the  poor 
girl  at  last. 

"You're  all  safe  now,  Ellen,"  I  replied,  kneeling  beside 
her,  and  putting  my  arm  tenderly  round  her  shoulder. 
"  We  have  been  thrown  from  the  carriage.  See,  here's 
dear  little  Philly  :  don't  you  know  him  ?  " 

Theoph  held  the  baby  on  her  lap.  In  an  instant  she 
caught  him  in  her  arms,  and  kissed  him  over  and  over 
again,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"  Och,  me  darlin',  me  darlin' !  Is  it  kilt  ye  are  ?  Ah, 
my  poorty  baby!  Bad  luk  to  the  murtherin'  baste,  thin  !  " 

We  knew  she  was  all  right  now.  This  point  settled,  I 
suddenly  felt  a  great  tingling  in  my  left  cheek.  Mr. 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  21 

Dobbs  and  Theoph  were  talking  together,  I  heard  the 
latter  say  hurriedly,  — 

"  Yes :  you  may  try.  Somebody  has  probably  caught 
him  before  this.  I  must  stay,  and  attend  to  Em." 

By  this  time,  there  were  several  persons  around  us,  — 
two  teamsters,  a  sprinkling  of  deeply  entertained  children, 
and  one  fleshy  lady,  bearing  a  pitcher  of  water  and  a 
bundle  of  rags,  who  declared  it  was  "  the  most  mirac'lous 
accident "  she  ever  heard  of. 

The  men  were  soon  busily  examining  the  remnants  of 
our  rockaway-top,  lifting  broken  bits  of  iron,  wood,  and 
any  amount  of  leather  and  torn-cushion  arrangements. 

"  If  it  hadn't  a-bin  sich  a  rotten  old  thing,  it  would  a- 
gone  harder  with  you,"  observed  one  of  the  men  senten- 
tiously  to  my  crestfallen  Theophilus. 

"  Yes  :  it  must  have  went  all  to  pieces  at  the  first  go," 
remarked  the  other  teamster  reflectively. 

The  fat  lady  conducted  our  dilapidated  party  to  her 
cottage  near  by,  and  in  true  Oriental  style  gave  us  water, 
and  bade  us  wash,  and  be  welcome.  My  cheek  proved  to 
be  badly  scraped ;  but  Theophilus,  bless  his  heart !  is  the 
tenderest  nurse  in  the  world,  and  soon  made  me  compara 
tively  comfortable. 

Our  habiliments,  though,  were  past  repair.  Such  look 
ing  objects  as  we  were  !  My  "  love  of  a  bonnet "  was  a 
hopeless  wreck.  As  for  Theoph's  clean  linen  "  duster,"  it 
was  past  redemption  by  either  soap  or  needle.  Ellen  was 
all  excitement,  and  remembered  the  accident  in  its  mi 
nutest  particulars. 

"  Och !  indade,  ma'am,"  she  repeated  again  and  again, 
"  but  it  was  oreful.  I  saw  the  horris  give  one  lep  j  and 

8* 


22  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

thin  over  we  wint  all  forninst  the  other !  but  I  never  once-t 
let  go  the  dear  child,  ma'am,  but  jist  held  on  till  him 
through  it  all.  If  ye'll  belave  me,  ma'am,  I  gathered  his 
very  cloak  around  him  :  so  I  did." 

After  setting  our  hearts  all  aglow  with  the  thought  that 
God's  children  were  good  and  kind  to  each  other  after  all, 
our  adipose  friend  sent  us  home  in  her  only  vehicle,  —  a 
farm-wagon  filled  with  clean  straw. 

To  our  astonishment,  as  we  neared  the  house,  we  saw 
Mr.  Dobbs  and  the  man  rubbing  down  Prince,  who,  steam 
ing  and  panting,  stood  near  a  cart-like  looking  affair  that 
proved  on  inspection  to  be  the  remains  of  our  lovely, 
"  better-ash-new  "  rockaway.  He  had  dashed  in  with  it  at 
a  furious  rate,  much  to  the  consternation  of  our  home 
force. 

Poor  Miss  Kimso,  standing  in  her  doorway,  declared 
that  she  had  been  struck  motionless  with  terror.  "  I  tried," 
she  said,  "  to  ask  my  Phcebe  to  run  over  and  find  out  what 
had  happened  ;  but  the  words  *  stuck  in  my  throat '  —  like 
Macbeth's  dagger.  Oh,  what  a  mercy  it  is  that  you're  all 
safe !  " 

A  lame,  aching  party  were  we  the  next  day.  Mr.  Dobbs 
was  sorely  bruised,  and  couldn't  think  of  going  to  town. 
Theoph  and  Kelly  took  Prince  back  to  Mr.  Jacobs,  and 
entered  their  complaint. 

All  the  satisfaction  they  could  get  was  that  "  he  vash 
not  a  horsh-dealer — it  vash  his  brudder's  horsh  — he  know 
notting  'bout  him — his  brudder  vash  gone  to  Canadah  "  — 

"  You  told  me  California,"  interrupted  poor  Theoph. 

"  Veil,  vat  if  I  did  ?  "  retorted  Mr.  Jacobs,  in  no  way 
disconcerted.  "  My  brudder  vill  go  to  both  country  'fore 


DOEBS'S  HORSE.  2$ 

he  come  home.  You  ax  me  take  de  horsh  off  you  hand  ? 
Vat  for  ?  I  no  vant  him.  A  horsh  run  vay  vonce,  he  ish 
no  vorth  zat  "  (snapping  his  ringers). 

Just  as  Theoph,  after  a  despairing  protest,  was  about  to 
leave  the  spot  in  disgust,  accompanied  by  Kelly  and  the 
Prince,  Jacobs  called  him  back. 

"  I  tell  you  vat  I  vill  do  ;  and  I  can  do  no  more.  I  can 
not  give  you  pig  price  for  runavay  horsh  ;  he  ish  not  vort 
tventy  dollar.  But  I  vill  do  zis.  You  say  you  carriage  all 
broke ;  veil,  I  vill  give  you  good  coupe',  most  so  good  ash 
new,  for  him  :  vat  you  say  to  zat,  hey  ?  " 

At  first  the  offer  was  rejected  with  disdain  ;  but  finally 
my  Antonio,  not  having  his  Portia  there  to  attend  to  the 
case,  let  it  go  by  default.  The  (horse)  flesh  fell  to  Shy- 
lock,  and  the  coupe  was  sent  to  "  Flowery  Grove  "  by  the 
evening  train. 

The  only  excuse  Theophilus  gave  on  his  return  to  that 
prematurely  named  spot,  was  that  he  could  not  conscien 
tiously  sell  the  animal  to  any  one  else  ;  and  he  knew  car 
riage  number  one  was  past  repairing.  As  to  another 
horse,  he  really  did  not  know  how  in  the  world  he  could 
spare  the  money  to  get  one  just  then ;  but  he  would  try  to 
manage  it  somehow. 

At  this  point  Damon  came  to  the  rescue  of  his  Pythias. 

"  Brown,"  he  exclaimed,  springing  from  a  recumbent 
position,  and  slapping  Theophilus  on  the  shoulder,  "  have 
I  been  asleep  ?  Why  in  the  world  didn't  I  think  of  it 
before  ?  There's  just  the  very  animal  you  want,  over  in 
Westchester  County,  waiting  for  you  to  come  and  take 
him." 

Theoph  stared   hopefully,  and   Mr.    Dobbs   continued, 


24  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  Just  the  very  thing,  I  tell  you.  A  good,  sound  family 
horse  ;  not  young,  but  all  the  safer  for  that.  Has  been  a 
splendid-looking  creature  in  his  day  ;  but  the  people  up 
there  have  let  him  go  down  a  little.  All  they  care  for  is 
to  get  the  price  of  his  board.  I  have  had  my  misgivings 
of  late,  that  it's  not  exactly  the  right  place  for  him.  All 
you  need  do  is  to  have  him  brought  here  at  once.  You 
will  soon  get  him  in  high  condition,  and  may  have  the  full 
use  of  him  for  his  keep.  There  you  are,  my  man  !  Hold  ! 
I'll  give  him  to  you,  though  there's  not  another  man  in  the 
world  that  should  have  him." 

Pythias  thanked  him  heartily,  and  declared  that  he 
thought,  under  the  circumstances,  it  would  be  about  the 
best  thing  for  both  sides. 

"  Certainly  it  would,  my  boy  ;  certainly  it  would,"  said 
Damon,  tumbling  back  again  on  the  sofa.  "We'll  have 
him  here  at  once." 

As  an  interested  spectator  to  the  scene,  I  could  not 
help  wondering  why  Mr.  Dobbs,  who  evidently  was  not 
burdened  with  a  surplus  of  worldly  treasure,  should  have 
assumed  the  expense  of  keeping  a  horse  in  this  way. 
Theophilus  relieved  me  by  asking  the  question  point- 
blank. 

Mr.  Dobbs  replied  rather  gruffly,  — 

"  He  belonged  to  my  mother,"  and  closed  his  eyes  with 
pretended  drowsiness.  I  saw  his  lip  tremble  though, 
and  from  that  hour  have  loved  him  in  spite  of  his  queer 
notions. 

The  horse  was  on  a  farm  in  Westchester  County,  near 
the  old  cottage  where  our  friend  had  lived  through  his 
happy  childhood,  and  where  his  parents  had,  within  a  year 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  2$ 

of  each  other,  ended  their  days.  A  simple  marble  slab 
in  the  village  churchyard,  bearing  the  inscription  "  Father 
and  Mother,"  marks  their  resting-place.  An  old  woman, 
living  near  the  spot,  has  told  me  that  she  saw  a  tall,  dark- 
haired  gentleman  planting  the  ivy  and  roses  there  with  his 
own  hands. 

Great  was  my  surprise,  on  the  second  day  after  our 
upsetting,  to  receive  a  note  from  Theophilus,  saying  that 
he  would  not  be  up  that  night,  and  that  he  wished  Mr. 
Dobbs,  "  lame  or  not,  to  come  down,  without  fail,  by  the 
first  train.  No  cause  for  alarm,"  the  letter  added;  it 
was  "  only  a  business  affair  requiring  immediate  attention," 
&c. 

On  the  next  evening  Theoph  came  back  alone. 

"Well,  Em,"  he  exclaimed,  while  kissing  all  three  of 
the  children  at  once,  "  Dobbs  is  off ! " 

"Off!     Where?" 

"Why,  he's  gone.  Gone  to  California.  A  splendid 
opening  for  him  turned  up  yesterday.  He  saw  the  parties 
last  night,  and  was  off  this  afternoon  at  a  few  hours'  notice. 
The  energy  of  that  man  is  prodigious  !  " 

"  How  long  will  he  be  away  ?  " 

"  Oh  1  perhaps  three  months,  perhaps  a  year ;  can't  tell. 
Where's  Kelly  ?  Down  in  the  village  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Why  ? " 

"  I  shall  have  to  send  him  to  Westchester  by  the  first 
train  to-morrow  morning.  Dobbs's  horse  is  to  be  brought 
down." 

"  That  is  good  news ! "    I  exclaimed,  quite  delighted. 
"But  how   did  you  have   an   opportunity   to   make   the 
arrangements  ? " 
3 


26  TPIEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  Oh !  Dobbs  thinks  of  every  thing.  You  never  saw 
any  thing  like  it.  Just  before  he  started,  he  handed  me 
this  letter,  which  he  says  will  make  it  all  right  with  Fowler, 
the  man  who  has  the  horse.  The  last  thing  he  said,  as 
the  boat  was  let  go,  was,  '  Take  care  of  old  Charley,  my 
boy.  "Love  me,  love  my  dog,"  you  remember.'  And 
then  he  waved  his  handkerchief,  and  was  off." 

It  was  strange  to  hear  Theoph  sigh.  But  we  took  a 
walk  around  the  place  together ;  found  an  isolated  flower 
or  two  ;  counted,  for  the  twentieth  time,  the  four  pears  on 
our  tree ;  watched  the  chickens  ;  looked  into  the  stable  to 
see  that  all  was  comfortable  there  for  the  expected  steed ; 
congratulated  each  other  upon  the  treasure  we  should 
have  in  "Charley;"  and  by  tea-time  Theoph  was  quite 
cheerful. 

All  the  next  day  our  household,  Philly  excepted,  was  in 
a  fever  of  expectation  ;  and  when  six  o'clock  came  (the 
time  when  Kelly  and  the  horse  were  expected  to  make 
their  appearance),  the  excitement  was  intense.  Even  Miss 
Kimso  ran  over  to  witness,  as  she  said,  the  arrival  of 

"  The  gallant  young  man  on  a  spirited  steed." 

The  two  little  girls  clapped  their  hands,  and  played  about 
the  lawn,  in  joyful  anticipation  ;  and  the  cook,  housemaid, 
and  Ellen  were  constantly  running  in  turn  to  the  front 
gate,  screaming,  "There  he  comes!  No,  it's  a  wagon, 
sure."  "  Faith,  he's  bringing  two  horses,  mum.  Oh,  no, 
it's  the  stage  that's  comin' ! "  At  last  Ellen  cried  out  in 
a  tone  of  unmistakable  certainty,  — 

"  An'  by  the  powers,  mum,  here  he  is !  Well,  if  iver 
I  saw  the  like  !  " 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  2/ 

Heralded  by  this  announcement,  Kelly  (yclept  "  Pat " 
by  his  intimates)  rode  in  state  through  the  grand  entrance, 
now  officiously  thrown  open  by  Julie  and  the  cook.  The- 
ophilus,  who  had  been  trying  to  read  Motley  with  dignified 
composure  in  the  meagre  shade  of  the  pear-tree,  threw 
down  his  book,  and  came  forward. 

There  we  all  stood,  an  eager  group,  every  eye  intent 
upon  Charles  and  his  rider.  Kelly  appreciated  his  oppor 
tunity,  and  tried  for  once  "  to  witch  the  world  with  noble 
horsemanship."  Alas  !  it  was  useless.  Feeling  that  an 
apology  was  required,  he  exclaimed,  after  jerking  angrily 
at  the  bridle  without  producing  any  visible  effect,  — 

"Ah,  sir,  divil  a  bit  off  uv  a  walk  would  he  move  for  me 
the  day !  The  crayture's  bones  is  a'most  through  the  skin, 
sir." 

At  the  peroration  of  this  startling  address,  he  presented 
a  side-view  to  the  assembled  spectators.  The  effect  was 
electric.  Theophilus  looked  tragic,  Miss  Kimso  almost 
fainted,  Ellen  and  Kitty  giggled,  and  the  cook  clapped 
her  hands  on  her  knees,  and  laughed  immoderately. 

"  Faith,  he's  a  jewel,  sir,"  said  Kelly,  with  a  grin,  slid 
ing  down  from  the  animal's  back,  and  gaining  courage 
from  the  sounds  around  him.  "  Upon  me  sowl,  sir,  I'm 
thinkin'  it's  feedin'  him  on  barrels  they've  bin,  if  seem'  the 
staves  betokens  any  thing." 

"  Silence  !  "  commanded  Theophilus. 

"Will  I  take  him  yonder  to  the  stable,  sir?"  asked 
Kelly,  sobered  in  an  instant. 

"  Yes.  Stay  !  "  said  Theophilus,  with  some  hesitation. 
"  Are  you  sure  you've  made  no  mistake,  that  you've  brought 
the  right  horse  ?  " 


28  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  Faith,  sir,"  answered  Kelly,  brightening,  "  it's  meself 
axed  that  same,  sir.  But  there  wasn't,  barrin'  this  one, 
another  horris  in  it.  Perraps  the  lether,  sir,  will  tell  yez 
about  it,"  he  continued,  as,  after  tugging  at  his  pocket  for 
a  minute  or  so,  he  succeeded  in  producing  a  crumpled 
note. 

"Yes,  it's  all  right,"  said  Theoph,  after  reading  the 
missive,  and  handing  it  to  me  with  a  hopeless  air. 

"  Theoph,  dear,"  I  ventured  soothingly,  as  soon  as  we 
were  alone,  "  we  may  as  well  take  it  as  a  joke.  It's  the 
funniest  thing  that  has  ever  happened  to  us  :  so  why  not 
kugh  at  it  ?  " 

"  Humph  !  "  replied  my  spouse  stiffly.  "  If  you  can  see 
any  fun  in  our  keeping  that  snuff -colored  skeleton  for  the 
rest  of  his  days,  you're  very  welcome.  What  in  the  world 
Dobbs  was  thinking  of  in  saddling  me  with  that  lank,  long- 
backed,  high-hipped  affair,  I  cannot  conceive." 

"But  he  had  not  seen  him  for  some  time,"  I  urged, 
knowing  that  the  best  way  to  get  Theoph  into  a  good 
humor  was  to  take  his  Damon's  part.  "  He  told  us  the 
horse  would  probably  be  in  bad  condition,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  so  he  did.  Let  Dobbs  alone  for  being  fair  and 
honest.  Well,  care  and  good  feeding  possibly  may  bring 
up  the  old  nag,  after  all.  He  said  he  had  been  a  splendid 
animal,  didn't  he  ?  " 

"  Certainly  he  did.  Everybody  knows  what  a  difference 
a  little  flesh  makes  with  a  horse.  When  once  we  get  him 
fattened  up  and  well  brushed,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
he  will  be  a  different  creature ;  and,  after  all,  it's  a  great 
comfort  to  know  that  he  will  be  perfectly  safe  and  trusty." 

"Now,   Em,"  said  Theoph    appealingly,   and  working 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  29 

himself  into  a  heat  as  he  proceeded,  "why  do  you  say 
that  ?  A  poor  horse  is  never  trusty.  I've  told  you  so  a 
dozen  times  !  I  tell  you,  Em,  I'd  rather  "  — 

"  O  Papa  !  "  cried  Julie,  rushing  into  the  sitting-room 
in  great  excitement,  "  our  new  horse's  got  'most  no  tail  at 
all,  Kelly  says,  only  'bout  a  dozen  hairs,  and  "  — 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,  never  mind  what  Kelly  said  ;  go 
and  wash  your  face,  and  don't  scream  so  about  the  house." 

"  But,  Papa  !  "  — 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  new  horse's  eyes  opens  just  as  wide  as 
any  thing,  and  the  other's  'most  shut.  Isn't  that  the  Blind 
Staggers  ? " 

"There's  a  skeleton  in  every  house,"  says  some  old 
croaker,  I  forget  who  ;  and  sometimes  one  can't  help  be 
lieving  that  it  is  so.  Our  skeleton  most  emphatically  was 
old  Charley.  Rubbing,  brushing,  combing,  blanketing, 
feeding  the  creature,  were  of  no  avail :  a  skeleton  he 
remained.  To  be  sure,  when  compelled  to  use  him,  we 
managed  to  conceal  his  anatomy  by  means  of  an  elaborate 
fly-net,  adding  a  sort  of  double  nightcap  arrangement 
which  went  over  his  ears,  and,  with  its  dangling  tassels, 
gave  a  slightly  animated  effect.  This  arranged,  Kelly,  by 
tightening  the  check-rein  so  as  to  raise  the  long  neck  to  a 
slight  angle  with  the  back,  and  plying  the  whip  indus 
triously,  strove  to  keep  up  appearances  while  conveying 
us  to  church  or  to  the  village.  My  lazy  Theophilus  was 
forced  to  walk  to  and  from  the  station  every  day,  for  he 
couldn't  and  wouldn't  drive  the  creature ;  but  Miss  Kimso 
and  myself  sometimes,  on  rare  occasions,  assumed  that 
3* 


30  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

responsibility.  That  this  was  a  mortification  both  to  the 
flesh  and  to  the  spirit,  I  will  not  deny.  But  the  baby 
needed  mountain  air ;  and  Kelly,  who  was  coachman,  foot 
man,  stable-boy,  gardener,  and  wood-cutter,  all  in  one, 
could  not  always  make  it  convenient  to  accompany  us. 

Numerous  were  the  trials  that  assailed  us  on  these  occa 
sions.  Dear  blundering  Miss  Kimso  often  wished  that  in 
some  magic  way  we  could  substitute  for  him  the  famous 
winged  horse  Parnassus,  or  that,  "  like  the  pauper  in  the 
poem,  he  would  at  least  — 

'  Rattle  his  bones  over  the  stones.' " 

Not  he.  In  fact,  the  only  moments  in  which  the  idea 
of  motion  could  be  associated  with  old  Charley  were  those 
when,  by  suddenly  standing  stock-still  in  the  middle  of 
the  road,  he  sent  a  dazed  consciousness  through  you  that 
he  must  have  been  moving  an  instant  before. 

One  beautiful  breezy  day,  after  purchasing  supplies  at 
the  village  store,  Miss  Kimso  and  I  sprang  gayly  into  our 
seats,  sure  of  a  pleasant  drive  homeward. 

"  Come,  Charley,"  said  I,  in  my  cheeriest,  friendliest 
tone,  as  I  caught  up  the  reins. 

He  evidently  misunderstood  me ;  perhaps  I  should  have 
said,  "  Go,  Charley."  But  it  was  too  late  now.  He  did 
not  stir. 

For  a  full  half-hour  we  coaxed,  commanded,  wheedled, 
and  exhorted  that  animal,  in  vain. 

Meantime  ragged  boys  and  idle  men  gathered  about  us. 

"  Give  him  some  pepper  !  "  shouted  one.  "  Build  a  fire 
under  him  !  "  screamed  another ;  and  one  and  all,  poking 
and  pushing,  shouted,  "  Get  up!"  and  "Now  for  it!"  until 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  31 

we  were  ready  to  cry  from  mortification.  At  last,  by  dint 
of  hard  pulling  and  urging,  with  three  fresh  men  at  his 
head  and  four  stout  fellows  standing  like  pall- bearers  at 
the  wheels,  we  attained  that  soul  of  the  universe,  motion. 
After  one  ecstatic  moment  of  speed,  we  crawled  off,  fol 
lowed  by  the  cheers  of  the  crowd. 

In  simple  justice,  however,  to  the  venerable  Charles,  it 
must  be  stated,  that  balking  was  not  a  frequent  practice 
with  him.  As  a  general  rule,  he  jogged  along  at  a  regu 
lar  gait,  engrossed  in  brown  study  ;  and  it  was  only  when, 
apparently,  the  subject  under  consideration  became  too 
much  for  him,  that  he  stopped  short,  in  order  to  take  it 
up  deliberately  in  all  its  possible  bearings.  I  really  did 
not  dare  to  tell  Theophilus  of  this  little  peculiarity,  lest 
my  career  as  a  whip  should  suddenly  be  ended  by  impe 
rial  command.  With  his  high  sense  of  honor,  and  the 
claims  of  friendship,  I  knew  he  would  keep  old  Charley 
at  any  cost ;  and  the  luxury  of  another  horse  was  not  to 
be  thought  of  for  an  instant.  Poor  Theoph  felt  the  de 
privation  keenly ;  but  he  never  hesitated  when  following, 
as  he  believed,  the  simple  line  of  duty.  He  would  be  true 
to  Dobbs,  and  Dobbs's  horse,  whatever  might  happen. 
Sometimes,  from  his  high  altitude,  he  would  try  to  regard 
Charley  as  a  real  treasure,  or,  as  his  friend  Sparrowgrass 
would  say,  "  a  most  excellent  thing  to  have  in  the  coun 
try  ; "  but  this  was  carrying  high-toned  principle  a  little 
too  far. 

One  afternoon  my  husband  came  from  town  by  an 
earlier  train  than  usual.  I  should  have  been  alarmed, 
had  I  not  heard  him  whistling  "  //  Segreto  "  as  he  walked 
up  the  path. 


32  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

"Em!"  he  shouted,  bustling  into  the  cottage,  "want 
to  go  to  town  to-night  ?  I've  taken  seats  at  the  Academy. 
They're  going  to  have  '  Lucrezia  Borgia  '  for  the  last  time 
this  season." 

"  O  Theoph  !  "  I  cried  in  dismay.  "  How  could  you  ? 
You  know  I  cannot  possibly  leave  the  children." 

"Yes,  you  can,  my  dear.  I  have  made  arrangements 
for  Aunt  Ann  to  come  up  by  the  half-past  five  train  on 
purpose." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Theoph!  What  a  dear,  thoughtful 
creature  you  are  !  But  "  —  And  my  heart  sank  at  a 
thought  which  flashed  upon  me. 

"  But  what  ?  "  asked  Theoph  impatiently. 

"  My  bonnet  !  "  I  faltered.     "  I  have  no  bonnet." 

"  No  bonnet  !  Why,  what  in  the  world  did  you  wear  to 
the  village  yesterday  ?  " 

"Oh!  that  was  a  distressed  old  thing.  My  best  one 
was  ruined  on  that  day"  — 


"  Why,  the  day  when  Prince  ran  away  with  us.  Don't 
you  remember  ?  " 

Theoph  did  remember  perfectly,  of  course;  but  he 
wished  to  go  to  the  opera,  and  so  would  not  admit  any 
thing  in  reference  to  the  damaged  head-gear.  He  flung 
the  tickets  upon  the  sitting-room  table,  and  asked,  with  an 
injured  air,  what  was  to  be  done  ? 

Suddenly  his  mood  brightened.  "I  have  it!  Wear 
one  of  those  worsted  things  —  what  do  you  call  them? 
Higgle  —  riggle  —  something." 

"  Rigolette  !  "  I  laughed.  "  Yes  :  so  I  can.  My  rigo- 
lette  will  answer  admirably  ;  but  —  oh,  dear  —  how  can  I 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  33 

wear  it  coming  home  to-morrow  ?  No  lady  would  wear 
such  a  thing,  travelling  in  the  daytime." 

Theoph  threw  up  his  arms  in  desperation. 

"  Well,  if  it's  not  easier  to  start  a  ship-of-war  than  a 
woman  any  time !  There  are  hats  in  New  York,  I  pre 
sume.  You  can  buy  one  in  the  morning." 

Prudence  forbade  the  suggestion  that  ladies  were  also 
not  in  the  habit  of  shopping  by  daylight  in  rigolettes. 
Trusting  that  somebody  at  Aunt  Ann's  would  lend  me  a 
bonnet  for  the  purpose,  I  hastened  from  the  room,  in  fine 
spirits,  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements  for  our  depar 
ture. 

In  an  instant  Theoph  called  out,  in  a  tone  of  despair,  — 

"  Em,  it's  no  use  !  The  next  train  doesn't  stop  at  this 
station,  and  there  is  no  other  until  nine  o'clock." 

"  Never  mind,"  I  called  back,  leaning  over  the  baluster. 
"The  5.30  train  stops  at  Orange." 

"  But  Orange  is  six  miles  off,"  groaned  Theoph. 

"  What  if  it  is  ?  "  I  responded  cheerily.  "  Old  Charley 
can  take  us  if  we  start  in  time." 

"  Hurrah !  so  he  can ;  and  stop  for  Aunt  Ann  too  at 
our  depot  on  his  return.  Hurry,  dear." 

Our  turnout  didn't  look  so  very  badly,  after  all,  when 
Kelly,  arrayed  in  his  best  clothes,  drove  around  to  the  door. 
That  fly-net  was  certainly  a  great  institution.  After  kiss 
ing  the  children  a  dozen  times,  and  thanking  Miss  Kimso 
for  her  kind  offer  to  remain  with  them  until  Aunt  Ann's 
arrival,  we  sprang  into  the  coupe',  and  directed  Kelly  to 
drive  with  all  practicable  speed  to  the  Orange  Depot. 

Charley  seemed  determined  to  do  his  best;  and  Theoph, 
leaning  back  complacently,  remarked,  "  If  we  keep  on  at 
this  rate,  we  shall  have  time  enough  and  to  spare." 


34  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

Before  we  had  proceeded  half  a  mile,  however,  my  un 
fortunate  spouse  suddenly  clapped  his  hands  on  his  pock 
ets,  looked  blank,  and  gasped,  — 

"  There !  I  have  left  the  tickets  in  the  pocket  of  my 
other  coat.  Stop,  Kelly ;  we  must  go  back  for  them : 
there's  ample  time." 

Kelly  turned  toward  home ;  and  Charley,  well  pleased  at 
the  change,  started  off  at  quite  a  lively  pace.  More  for 
the  sake  of  saying  something  than  for  any  other  reason,  I 
remarked  that  I  thought  I  saw  him  throw  them  on  the 
sitting-room  table.  Quick  as  a  wink  Theoph  clapped  his 
hands  on  his  pockets  again. 

"No  —  all  right  —  I  have  them.  I  remember  now  pick 
ing  them  up  the  last  thing.  —  Turn  around  again,  Kelly." 

Order  easily  given,  and,  one  would  suppose,  easily 
obeyed.  But,  alas !  what  can  willing  mind  avail  against 
obstinate  matter?  Kelly  pulled  the  rein,  "get  up'd," 
shouted,  and  plied  his  whip  —  all  to  no  purpose.  He  even 
stood  up  to  give  additional  vigor  to  his  strokes;  then 
jumped  out,  and  took  "  the  baste  "  insinuatingly  by  the 
head.  Charley's  determination  was  evident.  Go  forward 
he  would  :  turn  around  again  he  would  not. 

"  Then,  by  the  powers  !  "  exclaimed  Kelly,  seating  him 
self  with  new  energy,  and  lashing  his  horse  forward,  "  but 
I'll  get  ahead  of  ye  yet,  yer  varmint !  " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  "  cried  Theoph. 

"  I'm  going  up  a  bit,  sir,  to  the  next  turn  there  by  the 
churrich.  If  I  can  just  kape  his  attintion  till  we  get  onto 
the  other  road,  it's  all  right  wid  yez  yet." 

Theoph  looked  admiringly  at  Kelly,  and  whispered 
something  to  me  about  "native  wit;"  but  I  was  too  much 
discouraged  to  listen. 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  35 

The  ruse  succeeded.  Charley  turned  down  the  next 
road  during  one  of  his  fits  of  brown  study,  and  was  soon 
going  once  more,  slowly  but  surely,  toward  the  station. 

After  proceeding  a  few  miles  farther,  we  saw  our  train, 
far  in  the  distance,  hissing  its  way  along  like  some  great 
reptile. 

"  All  right !  "  exclaimed  Theoph.  "We'll  catch  it  yet, 
if  this  old  bag  of  bones  doesn't  tumble  down." 

Now,  what  decent,  high-minded  horse  could  be  ex 
pected  to  stand  such  a  remark  as  this  ? 

Charles  stopped  short. 

"  Get  up  !  "  shouted  Kelly,  in  a  tone  of  alarm. 

The  distant  train  became  more  distinct. 

"  Get  up,  you  baste !  " 

We  could  almost  count  the  cars. 

"Ge-etup!" 

The  smoke-pipe  would  soon  be  visible. 

"  Arrah  !  be  gar  !  whill  ye  get  up  ?  " 

Charles  stood  after  the  manner  of  a  kitchen-bench,  — 
legs  all  out  at  an  angle  of  forty-five. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what,  sir,"  said  Kelly,  laying  down  the 
lines,  "  there's  nothin'  for  yez  but  ter  get  out  an'  walk. 
It's  not  near  a  quarter-mile,  sir,  and  ye'd  be  there  in  time. 
They  wait  a  good  bit  takin'  in  water." 

Springing  out  with  alacrity,  — for  I  was  not  going  to 
miss  the  opera  after  all  this  trouble,  —  I  led  the  way  reso 
lutely,  and  Theoph  followed. 

"  This  is  what  I  call  seeking  pleasure  under  difficulties," 
he  panted,  gaining  my  side  as  I  hurried  on. 

"Yes,  but  it's  worth  it,"  said  I:  "we  can  rest  in  the 
cars." 


36  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

And  so  we  might  have  rested  in  the  cars,  had  not  the 
locomotive,  with  a  fiendish  shriek,  dashed  out  of  the  depot 
with  the  whole  train,  just  as  we  were  within  twenty  feet  of 
the  platform. 

Shall  I  enter  into  the  details  of  that  exciting  six-mile 
walk  homeward,  or  tell  how  we  hastened  in  the  hope  that 
we  still  might  find  Charley  in  statu  quo  ;  how  we  had  the 
agony  of  seeing  him,  in  the  distance,  finally  yield  to  Kelly's 
labors ;  how  Theophilus  called  and  shouted  in  vain,  as  the 
equipage  rattled  homeward  hopelessly  in  advance  of  us ; 
how  we  still  flew  on,  and  trusted  that  Charley,  who  never 
ran  so  before  nor  since,  would  take  a  rest,  and  enable 
Kelly  to  hear  our  beseeching  cry ;  how,  finally,  we  did  over 
take  them  just  before  we  reached  our  own  gate  ;  and  how 
Aunt  Ann  came  puffing  up  to  the  door  quite  indignant 
that  no  carriage  had  been  sent  to  the  station  to  meet  her  ? 
No.  Rather  let  the  reader  fancy  us  sleeping  sweetly  and 
calmly  that  night  after  our  unwonted  exercise. 

Let  him  also  imagine  my  emotions  when,  in  the  dead  of 
night,  I  was  wakened  by  a  mysterious  thumping,  appar 
ently  within  three  inches  of  my  head. 

I  sprang  to  the  floor.  The  window  was  open ;  but 
it  was  too  dark  to  see  any  thing.  Presently  the  thump 
ing  was  repeated,  and  I  heard  Kelly's  voice  outside  call 
ing, — 

"  Are  ye  there,  sir  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked,  terror-stricken. 

"  It's  himself  I'm  wantin',  mum.  The  horris  is  very 
bad.  Would  ye  ask  him  to  come  till  the  stable,  mum  ?  " 

"  Theoph,  Theoph  !  "  I  cried,  "  wake  up.  Old  Charley's 
sick." 


DOBJSS'S  HORSE.  37 

He  gave  a  dismal  moan  at  the  name,  but  never  stirred. 

"  Theoph  [shaking  him  vigorously],  Theophilus !  old 
Charley's  sick,  —  dying,  perhaps  :  oh,  do  wake  up  !  What 
would  Mr.  Dobbs  say,  if  "  — 

"  Dobbs  be  hanged  !  "  muttered  Theoph,  glaring  wildly 
at  me.  "  There  goes  the  train  !  "  and  he  tumbled  back  on 
his  pillow  like  a  forty-pounder. 

After  rummaging  frantically  for  the  matches,  I  lit  a 
candle.  By  this  time  Philly  was  awake,  and  screaming 
lustily.  Theoph  yielded  to  our  combined  efforts. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  he  asked,  sitting  up  and  rubbing 
his  eyes.  "  Is  the  baby  sick  ?  " 

"  No.  Kelly  wants  you  to  go  to  the  stable.  I'm  afraid 
old  Charley's  dying." 

"  You  don't  say  so ! "  exclaimed  Theoph,  leaping  up 
with  great  alacrity.  "  If  he  is  very  bad,  we'll  probably 
want  whiskey,  or  something  of  that  kind,  Em,  and  hot 
water ;  perhaps  four  pails  too,  so  that  we  can  soak  all  of 
his  feet  at  once,"  he  added,  chuckling.  In  fact,  I  never 
saw  Theoph  in  better  spirits,  though  he  seemed  resolved 
to  do  all  he  could  to  save  the  poor  beast. 

Soon  after  Theoph  went  out,  Kelly  came  to  ask  for  the 
"dimmyjohn,  mum." 

"  Och  !  but  there's  a  hape  in  it !  "  he  exclaimed,  shaking 
it  as  he  walked  out. 

Next,  Theoph  ran  into  the  house  for  a  long-necked 
bottle,  with  which  to  administer  the  whiskey.  We  had 
quite  a  long  search  before  we  found  one,  especially  as  the 
wind  blew  out  our  candle  three  times.  At  last  we  were 
successful.  I  put  on  a  big  shawl  over  my  wrapper,  and 
went  with  Theoph  to  hold  the  lantern. 

4 


38  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

We  found  Kelly  in  excellent  spirits,  and  more  talkative 
than  was  his  wont  amidst 

"  The  din  and  telltale  glare  of  noon." 

Poor  Charley  took  the  whiskey  quietly  enough,  though 
he  had  a  kind  of  spasm  afterward.  His  struggles  were 
really  frightful. 

"  Rub  his  legs,  Kelly,"  said  Theoph. 

"Ah,  begorra,  sir,"  answered  Kelly,  obeying  after  a 
fashion,  "  I  wouldn't  be  after  throubbling  meself  about  the 
crayture,  sir.  It's  dyin'  he  is,  anyhow.  Arrah  !  an'  it'll 
be  an  aise  till  his  bones  to  be  under  the  sod.  Divil  a 
wooden  overcoat  he'll  be  wantin',  at  all !  " 

Soon  wearying  of  this  style  of  eloquence,  I  put  the  lan 
tern  upon  the  ground,  and  returned  alone  to  the  house. 
Theoph  followed  in  a  few  moments. 

"  Em,"  he  called,  "  where  can  I  find  some  wood  ?  I 
shall  have  to  make  a  fire,  and  heat  some  water.  Can't  you 
wake  Bridget  or  Kitty  ?  " 

Rather  than  call  up  the  poor  girls,  who  had  gone  to  bed 
"  worn  out  with  their  week's  ironing,"  I  assisted  my  com 
fort-loving  spouse  through  this  mighty  performance,  and 
smiled  to  hear  him  whistling  "  //  Segreto  "  as  he  thrust  in 
stick  after  stick. 

"  How  is  Charley  now  ? "  I  asked,  as  soon  as  the  blaze 
was  fairly  started. 

"Pretty  bad;  may  get  over  it,  though.  We've  given 
him  a  stiff  dose  of  whiskey ;  and  I  told  Kelly  to  rub  his 
legs  (the  horse's  legs,  Mrs.  Brown)  until  I  returned." 

It  seemed  as  if  the  water  never  would  get  hot.     At  last 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  39 

Theoph,  by  deliberately  scalding  his  hand  in  it,  satisfied 
himself  that  it  would  "do,"  and  was  about  to  start  off  with 
a  pailful,  when  a  shrill  scream  caused  him  to  spill  half  of 
it  upon  the  floor. 

"  Help  !  Murder  !  Thieves  !  "  screeched  a  voice  from 
the  sitting-room. 

"  Oh  !  "  laughed  Theoph,  "  it's  Aunt  Ann.  Go  quiet 
the  poor  soul,  Em,  while  I  call  Kelly  to  take  this  pail." 

In  vain  "  Kelly,  Kelly  !  "  rang  out  on  the  midnight  air. 
No  individual  of  that  name  made  his  appearance.  Theoph 
told  me  afterward,  that  when  in  desperation  he  carried  the 
hot  water  to  the  barn  himself,  he  found  Kelly  on  his  knees, 
hugging  old  Charley  most  affectionately. 

"  Ah,  my  honey !  "  whispered  Kelly  confidentially  to 
Charles,  "  but  we've  had  the  fine  time  thegither.  It's 
long  since  I've  had  a  drop  like  that  to  warrum  me.  By 
Saint  Pater !  but  whiskey's  the  stuff  for  a  boy,  anyhow !  " 

"You've  been  at  the  whiskey,  have  you?  you  scoun 
drel  !  "  exclaimed  Theoph,  lifting  the  demijohn,  and  shak 
ing  it  with  unexpected  facility.  "  Come,  get  up  !  Do  you 
hear  ? " 

"  Have  I  bin  at  the  whiskey,  yer  honor  ? "  replied 
Kelly  indignantly,  as  he  raised  his  head  from  Charley's 
neck.  "  Och  !  is  it  dhrinkin'  I  would  be,  an'  the  poor 
baste  a-dyin'  ?  "  and  Charley  received  another  hug. 

Theophilus  may  have  had  great  trials  during  the  re 
mainder  of  that  night.  I  do  not  doubt  it.  But  that  was 
no  reason  why  he  should  have  been  so  fearfully  cross  all 
the  next  day.  Kelly  was  a  model  of  penitence,  and  prom 
ised  by  all  the  saints  on  the  calendar  never  to  transgress 
again ;  "  exceptin',"  he  added,  "  I'm  left  all  alone  twicet 


40  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

forninst  a  dimmyjohn  wid  the  corrik  out  —  and  St.  Patrick 
himself  couldn't  howld  out  agin'  the  like  o'  that." 

Charley  did  not  die  —  not  a  bit  of  it.  He  was  only,  as 
his  groom  said,  "a  little  overdid."  In  a  few  days  he  was 
quite  himself  again ;  and,  before  the  week  was  over,  I  was 
tempted  to  travel  en  voiture  to  the  village  once  more. 

I  am  happy  to  say  our  steed  quite  redeemed  him 
self  on  the  occasion.  The  only  fright  he  gave  me  was  in 
showing  decided  symptoms  of  lying  down  while  Kelly  was 
in  the  feed-store.  To  my  great  relief,  a  good-natured 
negro  boy  came  to  the  rescue. 

After  tugging  a  while  at  Charley's  head,  and  giving  him 
a  mouthful  of  water,  he  volunteered  a  remark  or  two :  — 

"  Dat  yere  horse  is  weak,  Miss  Brown,  he  is  —  can't 
har'ly  stan'  up  —  dat's  a  fac,  he  can't  —  'pears  to  me  dey 
ort  ter  gib  him  more  ter  eat." 

This  was  a  little  too  much.  As  I  had  no  other  audience, 
I  ventured  to  inform  the  sable  youth  that  the  animal  had 
always  more  food  offered  him  than  he  would  take. 

"  Den  he  wants  powders.  Juss  let  dem  gib  him  'dition 
powders  fur  de  ap'tite :  dey'd  fotch  him  up  mighty 
quick." 

The  result  of  this  little  dialogue  was,  that  before  long 
we  purchased  a  package  of  Hadley's  famous  Condition 
Powders.  Young  Africa  was  right.  They  did  give  Charley 
an  appetite.  He  became  ravenous  as  a  wolf ;  but  not  an 
ounce  of  fat  appeared  in  consequence.  As  Kelly  face 
tiously  remarked,  it  was  "  a  race  with  him,  whether  to  get 
higher  in  the  bone  or  lower  in  the  flesh."  Even  Bridget 
had  her  joke  at  his  expense,  and  talked  of  borrowing  him 
for  a  washboard.  Theophilus  grumbled,  and  declared  that 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  4 1 

it  cost  more  to  feed  him  than  it  would  to  keep  a  span  of 
ordinary  horses  ;  and  finally  I  announced,  that  ride  behind 
his  miserable  carcass,  I  never,  never  would  again. 

Abandoning,  therefore,  all  hope  of  using  him  for  the 
present,  his  afflicted  owner,  paying  well  for  the  privilege, 
had  him  turned  loose  every  day  in  an  adjoining  field. 
Theoph  even  examined  the  fences  himself,  to  be  certain 
that  they  were  all  secure  ;  for  he  had  just  received  a  letter 
from  his  dear  Dobbs,  alluding  to  "  old  Charley  "  in  affec 
tionate  terms. 

Here  the  creature's  first  exploit  was  to  deliberately  rush 
upon  a  broken  rail,  and  injure  himself  so  badly  that  we 
were  obliged  to  send  for  a  horse-doctor.  Accordingly  Kelly 
was  despatched  on  foot  to  a  small  brick  house  in  the  vil 
lage,  proclaiming  itself,  by  sundry  signs,  to  be  the  abode 
of  one  Sanders,  veterinary  surgeon,  and  also  of  one  Amos 
Dodd,  who  made  and  repaired  gentlemen's  clothing  in  the 
neatest  possible  style. 

It  was  mournful,  after  all,  to  see  Kelly  riding  back  with 
the  "  docther  "  in  a  muddy  gig,  and  to  watch  them  stand 
ing  near  old  Charley  in  solemn  consultation.  I  felt  as  if 
there  were  a  death  in  the  family  already.  Dr.  Sanders, 
however,  bound  up  the  injured  leg,  administered  a  pill  of 
about  the  shape  and  size  of  the  end  of  a  potato-masher, 
and  proclaimed  his  patient  out  of  danger. 

But  no :  Charles  keeled  over  during  the  afternoon,  and 
lay  upon  the  grass  whizzing  like  a  capsized  locomotive. 
Theophilus  used  some  inelegant  expressions  while  gazing 
upon  him,  and  sent  for  Dr.  Sanders  again.  After  that, 
the  hot  mashes  that  Kelly  was  forced  to  prepare  in  the 
kitchen  (especially  on  baking-days),  the  calls  for  flannel, 
4* 


42  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

Castile  soap,  rags,  and  hot  water,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
"  dimmyjohn,"  were  enough  to  drive  a  woman  wild.  At 
last  Charles  grew  better.  His  wounds  began  to  heal. 
Kelly  tethered  him  in  the  very  centre  of  the  field,  and 
went  about  his  work  whistling,  until  one  day,  when  that 
sorely-tried  individual  ran  up  to  the  house  in  high  wrath. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Brown,  sir,  would  ye  come  look  at  the  horris  ! 
—  whatever  it  is  is  the  matter  wid  his  leg,  bad  luck  to  it ! 
It's  bladin'  worse  ner  ever,  sir." 

Surely  enough  :  Charles,  feeling  something  itching  un 
mercifully,  and  having  no  finger-nails,  had  used  his  teeth 
with  effect.  Dr.  Sanders  swore  when  he  looked  at  him. 

"That  'ere  horse  needs  knockin'  on  the  head  more'n 
any  thing  else,"  he  observed. 

"  I  can't  do  that,"  answered  Theoph  bitterly :  "  he's  the 
gift  of  a  friend." 

"  Friend  be  d !  "  was  the  irreverent  comment.  "  / 

wouldn't  give  such  a  creetur  as  that  standing-room." 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  Charles  repeated  the  biting 
process  so  often,  that  Dr.  Sanders  declared  it  wasn't  any 
use  for  him  to  be  running  on  this  fool's-errand  business 
any  longer ;  he  couldn't  do  any  good  to  the  beast  unless 
he  had  him  down  to  his  own  place. 

Theophilus  was  only  too  glad  to  have  the  patient  re 
moved  ;  and  Flowery  Grove  was  accordingly  relieved  of  his 
presence  pro  tern. 

It  was  now  late  in  August.  Philly  was  getting  on  so 
well,  all  things  considered,  that  our  physician  recom 
mended  us  to  remain  out  of  town  as  long  as  practicable. 

Poor  Theoph  did  so  hate  those  long  walks  to  and  from 
the  station !  Still,  with  mental  reservations,  we  quite 


DOBBS 'S  HORSE.  43 

agreed  with  Miss  Kimso  that  the  country  would  be  delight 
ful  when  the  melancholy  days  were  come, 

"  The  brownest  of  the  year." 

i 

Meantime,  letters  came  from  Mr.  Dobbs  that  filled  the 
heart  of  Theophilus  with  delight. 

"  Dobbs  would  be  comfortable,  rich,  in  less  than  two 
years,"  he  said ;  and  he  shouldn't  be  surprised,  either, 
from  certain  indications,  if  the  scamp  had  formed  an  attach 
ment  down  there,  or  rather  if  he  were  hopelessly  "  smit 
ten  ; "  for  there  had  not  been  time  for  any  thing  deliberate. 
"  It  is  strange,  too,"  he  added,  "  that  he  does  not  reply  to  a 
solitary  point  in  any  of  my  letters.  Oh,  the  rascal  is 
surely  in  love  !  " 

The  conclusion  of  Mr.  Dobbs's  last  letter,  received  in 
the  autumn  splendor,  left  no  room  for  doubt. 

"  I  shall  start  for  New  York  by  the  next  steamer,"  he  wrote,  "  for  a  short 
stay  only.  California  must  be  my  home  for  some  years  to  come.  And, 
Brown,  old  boy,  I  shall  not  start  alone.  The  loveliest,  sweetest,  dearest 
woman  that  God  ever  made  will  accompany  me  as  my  wife.  We  sailed  out 
here  in  the  same  vessel,  have  known  each  other  ever  since,  and  —  well,  wait 
until  you  see  her,  that's  all.  Then,  if  you  have  any  fault  to  find,  fire  away! 

"If  you  are  still  at  'Flowery  Grove'  (ha,  ha!),  and  you  can  get  a  room 
for  us  at  good  Miss  Kimso 's,  we  shall  be  most  happy  to  give  you  a  week  of 
our  delightful  company  immediately  after  landing.  By  the  way,  old  chap,  why 
don't  you  write  ?  Not  a  line  from  you  have  I  received.  Ruggles  &  Co.  have 
turned  out  prime. 

"  Pat  old  Charley  for  me,  and  (beg  her  pardon  for  the  juxtaposition,  but 
love  for  that  horse  is  my  weak  spot)  present  my  warmest  remembrances  to 
your  dear  wife.  She  will  love  my  Annie,  I  know.  Adieu !  Pray  for  your 
Benedict.  Yours,  DOBBS." 

"  He  will  be  here  in  ten  days  ! "  cried  Theoph  blissfully, 


44  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

as  he  folded  the  letter ;  "  and  here  comes  Miss  Kimso. 
Now  we  can  speak  about  the  room." 

Miss  Kimso  assented  to  the  plan  very  cheerfully,  though 
it  was  with  great  difficulty  that  we  could  prevail  upon  her 
to  accept  any  remuneration. 

"  What!  "  she  cried.  "  '  Is  thy  servant  a  dog,  that  she 
should  do  this  thing  ? '  '  Take  the  wandering  stranger  in,' 
and  then  charge  him  so  much  a  week  ?  Never  !  " 

But  it  was  satisfactorily  arranged  at  last ;  and,  as  we  all 
sat  chatting  on  the  piazza,  I  could  not  help  observing  how 
really  pretty  Miss  Kimso  was  at  times,  especially  when  a 
look  of  peculiar  brightness  came  to  her  eye,  and  some 
sudden  emotion  sent  color  to  her  cheek. 

Theophilus  was  expatiating  upon  the  virtues  of  his 
adorable  Dobbs  for  our  benefit,  when  Dr.  Sanders,  driving 
by  in  his  dingy-looking  gig,  stopped  to  shout,  — 

"  Mr.  Brown,  you'd  better  send  for  that  horse  of  yourn. 
He's  just  eating  his  head  off  where  he  is." 

"  Eating  his  head  off !  "  shrieked  Miss  Kimso,  ready  to 
believe  any  thing  of  old  Charley.  I  explained  to  her  the 
meaning  of  the  phrase,  while  Theoph  called  out,  — 

"  I'll  send  the  man  around  this  evening.  And,  Sanders, 
just  let  him  have  your  bill  at  the  same  time,  will  you  ? " 

"  All  right !  "  shouted  the  horse-doctor,  as  he  drove  off, 
leaving  a  cloud  of  dust  behind  him. 

When  Kelly  brought  old  Charley  home  that  evening, 
looking  more  bony  and  rickety  than  ever,  and  delivered  the 
bill,  I  really  was  afraid  Theophilus  would  say  something 
wrong,  he  looked  so  desperate  for  an  instant;  but  he 
evidently  restrained  himself. 

"  Eating  his  head  off !  "  he  exclaimed  at  last,  after  gaz- 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  45 

ing  upon  the  startling  bit  of  paper.  "  Better  say  eaten  the 
whole  of  his  wretched  carcass  again  and  again.  I  wish 
Dobbs's  mother  would  come  and  take  her  own  !  " 

Just  then  I  heard  Nelly  crying ;  and  Miss  Kimso,  com 
plaining  of  chilliness,  bade  me  good  evening,  and  ran 
home. 

All  that  night  I  was  restless.  Perhaps  it  was  because 
old  Charley,  ill  at  ease  after  his  long  absence,  neighed 
more  drearily  than  usual.  Perhaps  it  was  the  memory  of 
Theoph's  unwonted  fit  of  temper.  Certain  it  is,  I  could 
not  sleep  a  wink.  The  room  was  insufferably  warm,  though 
it  was  autumn  ;  and  two  impish  mosquitoes,  the  last  of  their 
race,  tormented  me  to  desperation.  Finally,  enveloped  in 
a  light  shawl,  I  seated  myself  by  the  open  window,  and 
watched  the  fleckered  moonlight  as  it  lay  trembling  under 
our  pear-tree.  Sultry  as  was  the  air  within,  a  light  breeze 
was  stirring  out  of  doors,  and  the  bright  moon  overhead 
seemed  creeping  slowly  in  and  out  among  the  clouds. 
Suddenly  an  unusually  dismal  neigh  startled  me,  and  look 
ing  toward  the  barn  I  saw  something  that  made  my  very 
blood  run  cold. 

Old  Charley  was  walking  slowly  from  the  stable,  and  he 
was  not  alone  !  Gliding  in  advance,  as  though  leading 
him  by  an  invisible  halter,  was  a  tall  white  figure,  point 
ing  with  outstretched  finger  toward  the  west.  The  face 
was  turned  away ;  but,  with  a  gasp  of  horror,  I  noticed  that 
the  hair  falling  over  its  shoulder  was  scant  and  gray.  The 
words  of  Theophilus  flashed  upon  me,  — 

"  /  wish  that  Dobbs's  mother  would  come  and  take  her 
own  /"  With  a  shriek  I  flew  toward  the  bed. 

Theoph  sprang  up  in  an  instant. 


46  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  Emma,  my  darling,  what  is  it  ? " 

"  The  GHOST  !  "  I  cried.  "  Dobbs's  mother  !  "  and  fell 
fainting  to  the  floor. 

The  entire  household,  as  I  afterward  learned,  was  soon 
around  me;  and,  while  the  servants  were. shuddering  over 
my  incoherent  exclamations,  Theoph  hastened  to  explore 
the  premises.  That  I  had  seen  something viz.§  evident ;  but 
even  Theophilus  was  not  prepared  for  the  phantom  that 
stood  with  glittering  eyes,  to  receive  him  as  he  opened  the 
front  door.  In  one  skinny  hand  it  held  the  halter  that 
had  been  invisible  to  me,  while  over  its  shoulder  the  eye 
balls  of  old  Charley  glared  upon  him  with  blank,  remorse 
less  stare. 

Recovering  his  self-possession,  Theoph  seized  the  phan 
tom  by  the  arm. 

"  Good  heavens,  Miss  Kimso  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  what  are 
you  doing  here  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

She  awoke  with  a  scream,  and  dropped  the  halter  like 
one  bewildered.  As  he  led  her  back  to  her  own  house,  he 
could  see  that  something  was  wrong.  She  called  him 
Albert,  and  clung,  weeping,  to  his  arm ;  and  when  he  told 
her  he  was  not  Albert,  but  her  neighbor  and  friend,  she 
broke  into  a  rattling  laugh,  and  tried  to  get  away  from  him. 
She  was  better  the  next  day,  and  in  her  own  little  room 
gave  me  the  sad  story  of  her  life.  I  shall  not  repeat  it 
here ;  but  I  did  not  wonder,  when  with  tearless  eye  she 
told  me  that  she  had  conquered  herself,  and  ceased  to  look 
forward  to  Albert's  return,  that  sometimes  her  outraged 
nature  had  vent  in  temporary  delirium.  These  attacks, 
according  to  the  account  given  by  her  faithful  servant, 
were  growing  less  and  less  frequent  every  year.  Indeed, 
the  doctor  had  said  she  might  outlive  them  entirely. 


DOBBS'S  HORSE.  47 

The  doctor  was  right :  Miss  Kimso  began  to  grow 
stronger  soon  after  the  night  of  her  somnambulic  walk, 
when  the  moonlight  silvered  her  floating  brown  hair,  and 
transfigured  her  into  an  aged  ghost.  Black  Phcebe  helped 
us  to  account  for,  the  improvement,  however,  when  one 
day  she  said  confidentially,  "  It  sartinly  is  won'ful  strange 
now  to  think  how  Massa  Albert  is  a  comin'  back,  just  his- 
self  agin,  as  sorry  and  good  as  ever  you  see,  an'  ready  to 
die  for  missus." 

His  first  letter  reached  her  on  the  very  day  that  Mr. 
Dobbs  returned ;  and  the  dear  little  woman  was  radiant 
with  happiness.  A  soft  light  beamed  in  her  eyes,  though 
the  quotations  came  thick  and  fast  as  ever. 

As  for  Mr.  Dobbs's  wife,  she  was  certainly  a  charming 
young  person.  We  were  friends  from  the  very  first.  It 
was  such  a  relief  to  see  somebody  else  besides  Theophilus 
worshipping  Mr.  Dobbs  ! 

Before  they  had  been  with  us  an  hour,  we  were  all, 
including  Miss  Kimso,  clustered  together  near  the  porch, 
laughing  and  chatting  like  old  friends. 

Suddenly  the  countenance  of  Theophilus  assumed  a 
sardonic  grin. 

"  Dobbs,"  said  he,  "  I'm  going  to  do  something  hand 
some.  From  this  hour  old  Charley  is  yours  again.  Ac 
cept  him  as  a  wedding-gift  to  yourself  and  lovely  young 
bride." 

Mr.  Dobbs  stammered  forth  his  thanks,  and  declared 
he  would  be  "right  glad  to  see  the  noble  old  fellow 
again." 

"Let  the  noble  old  fellow  be  brought  forth!"  com 
manded  Theoph  in  a  tragic  voice. 


48  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

Kelly  soon  appeared,  dragging  the  wedding-gift  after 
him  by  main  force. 

Mr.  Dobbs  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  That's  not  old  Charley ! "  he  cried,  as  soon  as  his 
emotions  would  allow  him  to  articulate.  "  That's  "  — 
And  the  gentleman  doubled  himself  up  with  laughter. 

"  It  is  old  Charley,  though,"  returned  Theoph  posi 
tively. 

"I  tell  you  it  is  not,"  gasped  Mr.  Dobbs.  "It's  — oh, 
dear,  I  shall  die !  —  it's  a  horse  that  I  sold  long  ago  to 
Jim  Fowler,  over  in  Westchester  County,  for  fifteen  dol 
lars  !  " 

Theoph  turned  red,  rushed  into  the  house,  and  soon 
came  out  again  with  a  crumpled  sheet  of  paper. 

Mr.  Dobbs  seized  it,  and  read  aloud,  — 

J.  FOWLER. 

Dear  Sir,  —  Wishing  to  have  my  old  horse  again,  I  enclose  forty  dollars, 

which,  I  believe,  covers  every  thing.     Please  deliver  him  to  bearer,  and  (to 

prevent  mistake)  return  this  letter  with  your  receipt  by  same  hand.     In  haste, 

Yours,  respectfully,        CHARLES  G.  DOBBS. 

"  That's    straight    enough,    sir,    isn't    it  ? "    exclaimed 
Theoph  triumphantly.     "  Kelly  brought  it  back  with  him. 
on  that  same  day ;  and  here's  the  receipt.  —  Kelly  !  " 
"Yez,  sir." 

"  Didn't  you  get  this  horse  from  Mr.  Fowler  ?  " 
"  Sure,  sir,  I  did,"  began  Kelly  ;  "and"  — 
"  Of  course  he  did  !  "  interrupted  Mr.  Dobbs.     "  They're 
all  named  *  Fowler '  in  that  part  of  the  country.     But  it  was 
John  Fowler  that  had  old  Charley,  not  James.      By  the 
way,"  he  continued,  drawing  a  package  from  his  vest-pocket, 


DO  BBS'S  HORSE.  49 

"  I  have  brought  some  unopened  letters  with  me.  There 
were  such  stacks  of  them  waiting  for  me  when  I  landed, 
that  I've  not  had  time  to  read  half.  Let's  see.  Ah,  here 
we  are  !  This  looks  like  it."  And  he  tore  a  yellow  en 
velope  asunder. 

Mr.  DOBBS. 

Respected  Sir  [this  is  it,  sure  enough],  — as  your  remittances  have  not  come 
to  hand  since  last  April,  I  take  the  liberty  to  send  my  little  account  for  your 
horse's  board ;  which  please  to  pay  as  soon  as  you  can,  as  I  have  none  too 
much  on  hand  at  present  to  settle  my  spring  bills.  Old  Charley  looks  better 
now  than  any  young  horse  in  the  place.  He  would  fetch  a  price,  if  you 
could  make  up  your  mind  to  sell  him.  There's  people  asking  me  about  him 
most  every  day.  I've  rented  my  house  and  stables,  out  and  out,  after  this 
summer,  but  can  get  Charley  in  prime  selling  order  in  two  weeks.  Excuse 
me  for  asking,  but  I  do  wish  I  knew  why  you  sent  Jim  Fowler,  down  the  road, 
forty  dollars  for  that  old  nag  of  his.  It  was  twenty-five  dollars  more  than  he 
give  you  for  him. 

Please  settle  the  enclosed  bill  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  oblige 

Your  obedient  servant,        JOHN  FOWLER. 

By  the  time  Mr.  Dobbs  ceased  reading,  Theophilus  was 
quite  prepared  to  appreciate  the  joke.  In  fact,  we  all 
laughed:  Kelly  roared;  and  even  old  Charley  (?),  who 
stood  near,  threw  up  his  head,  and  made  a  sound  wonder 
fully  like  ha!  ha! 

Theophilus  spoke  first. 

"Dobbs,"  said  he,  "I  have  a  proposition  to  make. 
There  is  an  unpaid  bill  in  this  pocket,  from  the  horse- 
doctor  who  has  attended  yonder  steed  through  various 
slight  ailments.  You  must  have  a  pretty  big  one  for  your 
Charley's  board.  We  both  are  ignorant  of  their  amounts. 
What  say  you  to  a  blind  exchange  ?  Will  you  do  it  ?  "  and 
he  held  out  the  folded  bill  at  arm's-len^th. 

o 

Mr.  Dobbs  glanced  once  more  at  John  Fowler's  "  little 
5 


50  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

account."  Then  he  put  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and 
gave  one  long,  penetrating  look  at  "  old  Charley." 

Finally  he  looked  up.  "No,  Brown,"  said  he  sol 
emnly  :  "  I  couldn't  do  it.  Upon  my  soul,  I  couldn't." 

After  this,  Charley  drooped  ;  and  what  wonder  ?  His 
days  were  numbered  ;  though,  as  his  groom  assured  us,  he 
kept  his  "  faculties  "  to  the  last. 

"  Arrah,  sir,"  Kelly  would  say,  "  it  would  do  yer  harrit 
good  to  see  the  crayture,  wid  his  old  ways  on  him  as 
strong  and  fresh  now :  ye'd  be  astonished.  Faith,  it's 
balkin'  he  often  is,  a-shtandin'  there  in  his  shtall,  wid  never 
a  sowl  urgin'  him,  at  all,  at  all.  Ye  can  see  by  the  looks  of 
him  that  he's  just  tuk  it  int'  his  head  not  to  shtir  anudder 
shtep,  though  it's  shtandin'  shtill  he's  bin  all  the  time. 
An'  to  see  the  bones  of  him !  Och,  but  it's  comin* 
through  his  insides  they  are,  since  they  cuddn't  stick  out 
no  furder.  Is  it  oats,  or  carrits  ?  Arrah !  the  more  ye 
fatten  him,  the  thinner  he  gits.  Bad  luck  to  the  day  I 
fetched  him ! " 

Poor  old  Charley!  Even  Mr.  Dobbs  soon  stopped 
laughing  at  him.  He  did  not  die  after  the  usual  manner 
of  horses,  but  slowly  shrivelled  away;  and,  before  we 
went  to  town,  we  laid  him  tenderly  under  our  pear-tree. 


PHILLY  AND  THE   REST. 


|HEOPHILUS  and  I  had  quite  a  discussion  the 
other  night,  concerning  our  Philly. 

Philly  is  a  good  boy,  and  a  healthy  boy.  He's 
straight  as  an  arrow,  and  would  know  a  hawk  from  a  hern- 
shaw  as  quickly  as  any  one,  if  those  two  birds  were  in  the 
habit  of  flying  daily  before  his  dear  little  nose.  But  The- 
ophilus  thinks  that  when  a  youngster  gets  to  be  six  years 
old,  and  not  only  is  unacquainted  with  his  letters,  but 
evinces  a  decided  unwillingness  to  learn  them,  it  is  time 
for  the  parents  to  look  at  each  other,  and  ask,  "  Is  this 
our  child  a  fool  ?  " 

Theoph  generally  is  in  the  right;  but  he  certainly  is 
unduly  anxious  about  Philly.  Any  one  would  suppose,  to 
hear  him  talk,  that  the  dear  child  should  by  this  time  be 
able  to  recite  half  of  Webster's  Unabridged  with  his  eyes 
shut  —  just  as  if  he  wouldn't  be  an  unbearable  little  prig 
if  he  could  !  For  my  part,  I  love  him  all  the  more  for  his 
dear,  stupid  little  ways.  He'll  come  out  all  right  in  time. 
It's  delightful  to  hear  him  try  to  count,  "  one,  three,  five, 
two,  seven  "  —  bless  his  heart !  But  Theophilus  always 
looks  grave  and  troubled  at  these  attempts,  and  tries 

51 


52  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

to  teach  him  the  proper  sequence.  Philly  listens  for  a 
moment ;  but  what  can  one  do  with  him  ?  .  He  has  a 
way  of  wriggling  under  a  lesson,  that  soon  forces  one  to 
kiss  his  rosy,  laughing  little  cheeks,  and  let  him  go.  Ah  ! 
you  should  have  seen  Theophilus  just  after  the  discussion 
I  have  alluded  to.  Half  in  fun,  and  half  because  I  was 
provoked  at  him  for  his  solemn  way  of  taking  Philly,  I 
took  up  a  book,  and  began  to  read  aloud  a  life  of  the 
wonderful  child  Candiac  :  — 

"  '  Candiac,  John  L.  de  Montcalm  [I  began  impressively],  a  child  of  won 
derfully  precocious  talents,  was  a  brother  of  the  Marquis  de  Montcalm  who  was 
killed  at  the  battle  of  Quebec.  He  was  born  in  1719;  and  at  three  years  of 
age  read  French  and  Latin  fluently.'  " 

Theophilus  sighed;  but  I  proceeded  without  noticing 
it,— 

"  '  When  four  years  old  he  had  mastered  arithmetic ;  and,  before  seven  sum 
mers  had  passed  over  his  head,  he  had  acquired  Hebrew,  Greek,  heraldry, 
geography,  and  much  of  fabulous  and  sacred  and  profane  history.'  " 

Theoph  almost  groaned.     I  continued,  — 

11 '  His  extraordinary  acquirements  were  a  theme  of  panegyric  to  many 
literary  characters  of  that  age.' " 

"Seven  years,"  moaned  Theoph,  —  "only  one  year  older 
than  our  Philly  !  Dear  me  !  what  an  astonishing  child ! 
Go  on,  dear  :  what  else  did  he  do  ?  " 

"What  else  could  he  do,"  I  rejoined  severely,  "but 
die?  Here,  read  it  for  yourself.  Born  in  1719,  and  died 
of  hydrocephalus  in  1726." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Theoph. 

"  Ah,  here  is  another  !  "  I  said,  peering  into  the  book  ; 
"shall  I  read  it?" 


PHILLY  AND   THE  REST.  53 

"  Certainly,  my  love." 

" '  The  annals  of  precocity  present  no  more  remarkable  instance  than  the 
brief  career  of  Christian  Heinecker,  born  at  Lubeck,  Feb.  6,  1721.  At  the 
age  of  ten  months  he  could  speak,  repeating  every  word  that  was  said  to  him  ; 
when  twelve  months  old,  he  knew  by  heart  the  principal  events  narrated  in  the 
Pentateuch  ;  in  his  second  year  he  learned  the  greater  part  of  the  history  of 
the  Bible,  both  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  ;  in  his  third  year  he  could 
reply  to  most  questions  on  universal  history  and  geography,  and  in  the  same 
year  he  learned  to  speak  Latin  and  French ;  in  his  fourth  year  he  employed 
himself  in  the  study  of  religion  and  the  history  of  the  Church  ;  and  he  was 
able  not  only  to  repeat  what  he  had  read,  but  also  to  reason  upon  it,  and  ex 
press  his  own  judgment.  The  King  of  Denmark  wishing  to  see  this  wonder 
ful  child,  he  was  taken  to  Copenhagen,  there  examined  before  the  court,  and 
proclaimed  a  wonder.'  " 

"Tremendous!"  exclaimed  Theoph,  "but  very  unnatu 
ral.  Still  I  must  say  I  would  be  glad  to  have  a  child 
like  that." 

"  Would  you  ?  "  I  responded  dryly,  casting  a  glance  of 
suppressed  indignation  toward  the  crib  where  dear  little 
Philly  lay  asleep.  "  But  I've  not  read  it  all  yet." 

"  Ah !  excuse  me,  love." 

"  '  This  account  of  him  by  his  teachers  is  confirmed  by  many  respectable 
contemporary  authorities.  On  his  return  home  from  Copenhagen  he  learned 
to  write ;  but  his  constitution  being  weak,  he  shortly  after  fell  ill.'  " 

"  Ah  !  got  sick,  did  he  ?  I  believe  that  is  the  way  often 
with  these  extraordinary  children.  Probably  he  remained 
always  sickly  —  but  I  beg  pardon,  go  on." 

"  No,  Theoph,"  I  answered,  in  a  low  but  awful  tone, 
"  he  did  not  remain  ill  at  all.  He  died  then  and  there,  at 
the  age  of  four  years  and  four  months." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Theoph  again. 

In  a  few  moments  he  rose  and  crossed  the  room.  I 
13* 


54  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

knew  he  was  bending  over  Philly ;  but  I  didn't  look  up 
from  the  book. 

"  Come  here,  dear,"  he  said  at  last. 

I  obeyed.  Well,  it  was  strange.  There  lay  our  fair- 
browed  little  boy,  rosy  and  dewy  with  sleep ;  one  adven 
turous  little  bare  foot  was  thrust  out  from  beneath  the  soft 
blanket ;  his  left  hand  tightly  held  a  slate-pencil ;  the 
other,  with  chubby  finger  extended,  was  pointing  to  a  slate 
that  lay  on  the  coverlet  beside  him  ;  and  on  this  slate  was 
a  great  big  A,  which  Theoph  had  drawn  upon  it  that  after 
noon,  now  criss-crossed  all  over  with  Philly's  pencil-marks. 

"He  really  does  appear  to  be  pointing  at  it,"  I  said,  in 
rather  an  awed  voice. 

"  We'll  take  it  for  a  sign,"  added  Theoph  quietly.  "  We 
wont  trouble  the  little  chap  with  books  yet  a  while. 
Plenty  of  time  for  that  sort  of  thing  when  he's  older." 

Then  he  leaned  over  the  crib,  and  laid  his  cheek  close 
to  Philly's ;  and,  as  I  thought  it  best  not  to  make  any 
remark,  I  went  back  to  the  table  and  took  up  my  sewing. 

Now  the  two  children,  Candiac  and  Heinecker,  were 
extreme  instances  of  precocity,  I  admit.  But  we  some 
times  need  extreme  instances  to  point  a  moral,  and  espe 
cially  in  convincing  a  person  like  Theoph,  who  holds  on  to 
an  opinion  with  all  his  might,  forcing  you  to  do  the  same ; 
and  then,  just  as  you  are  trusting  your  whole  weight  to  the 
obstinacy  of  his  argument,  it  snaps  like  an  overtaxed  rope, 
leaving  you,  as  I  may  say,  a  prostrate  victor.  When  he 
gives  in,  he  does  it  so  completely  that  you've  nothing  to 
say,  and  must  just  sit  in  silence,  letting  your  unuttered 
arguments  seethe  within  you  till  you  cool  off. 

I  might  have  reminded  him  of  the  wonderful  boyhood 


P HILLY  AND   THE  REST.  55 

of  Pascal,  who  found  mathematics  in  his  porridge,  and  who 
was  forced,  in  his  infantile  pursuit  of  geometry,  to  call  a 
circle  a  round,  and  a  line  a  bar,  because  his  wise  father 
peremptorily  withheld  all  book-knowledge  of  the  subject 
from  the  precocious  little  one.  Or  I  could  have  opened 
another  biography,  and  read  to  him  of  Bossuet,  "The 
Eagle  of  Meaux,"  as  his  eulogists  have  called  him.  This 
wonderful  creature,  when  only  eight  years  of  age,  preached 
with  unction  at  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet.  But,  as  we 
all  know,  he  went  on  preaching,  growing  more  and  more 
able  and  eloquent  as  the  years  passed  by,  and  died  at 
last  in  a  green  old  age.  So  his  was  not  a  citable  case 
in  my  regard.  It  would  have  been  much  more  to  the 
point  to  dwell  upon  the  dull  boyhood  of  some  of  the 
world's  most  eminent  men :  of  how  Corneille  was  called  a 
dunce  by  his  schoolmaster ;  of  how  Master  Walter  Scott 
was  the  blockhead  of  his  class ;  of  how  the  poor,  sickly 
schoolboy,  Newton,  was  always  in  trouble  on  account  of 
inattention ;  and  how  impossible  it  was  to  make  little 
Danny  Webster  speak  his  "  piece  "  at  school  on  declama 
tion-days,  —  how  that  was  the  one  thing  he  couldn't  and 
wouldn't  do,  any  more  than  Philly  would  learn  his  letters. 
But  Theoph  might  then  have  turned  about  and  renewed 
the  defence.  He  might  have  quoted,  as  he  often  had 
before,  the  childhood  of  Galileo,  of  whom  some  old  frump 
has  said  ecstatically,  that,  "  while  other  little  ones  of  his 
age  were  whipping  their  tops,  he  was  scientifically  con 
sidering  the  cause  of  their  motion."  Very  likely  he  would 
have  thrown  Dr.  Johnson  and  Lord  Jeffrey  at  me,  both  of 
whom  are  said  to  have  been  profoundly  wise,  even  in  their 
petticoats.  Then  there  was  the  great  Frenchman,  Gas- 


56  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

sendi,  who  was  only  four  years  of  age  when  the  study  of 
astronomy  began  to  engross  him ;  and  Humphry  Davy 
delivering  scientific  lectures  to  his  nursery  chairs ;  and 
Dr.  Arnold,  glad  at  the  ripe  age  of  three  to  be  presented 
with  Smollett's  "  History  of  England." 

No,  it  was  better  as  it  was.  A  relapse  of  the  argument 
might  prove  more  formidable  than  the  original  attack. 

Dear,  good  Theoph !  What  differences  of  opinion  could 
ever  come  seriously  between  him  and  me  ?  And  yet,  there 
is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  on  the  subject  of  juvenile  pre 
cocity  ;  and,  if  he  ever  goes  dangerously  back  to  his  old 
views  about  Philly,  I  shall  have  to  say  it.  I'll  tell  him 
how  direful  a  thing  it  nearly  always  is,  this  preternatural 
activity  of  the  faculties.  I'll  read  physiological  essays  to 
him ;  and  I'll  ask  him  whether,  if  he  were  to  go  out  into 
his  Long  Island  orchard  on  some  mild  day  in  March,  and 
find  an  apple-tree  fairly  bubbling  over  with  rapid  blos 
soms,  he  would  expect  to  find  many  apples  on  that  tree 
when  summer  came.  Of  course  he  wouldn't. 

Perhaps  it  would  be  a  more  philosophical  way  to  put  it, 
if  I  said,  "  How  would  you  like  your  trees  to  pop  forth 
early  in  the  spring  with  full-grown  fruit  ?  Wouldn't  you 
miss  blossom-time  ?  and  wouldn't  apples  probably  be 
all  gone  before  Christmas  ? " 

Surely  we  should  regard  with  reverence  the  blossom- 
time  of  life.  If  we  force  it  into  premature  fruitage,  we 
shall  be  disappointed  in  the  end.  And  how  much  we  lose, 
if,  in  a  slow,  beautiful  blossoming,  we  find  not  the  exceed 
ing  joy  that  childhood  brings  to  itself  and  to  us  ! 

Dwelling  on  my  simile  to  illustrate  another  serious 
phase  of  the  subject,  I  might  ask  Theoph  how  he  would 


P HILLY  AND   THE  REST.  $? 

like  to  have  the  beautiful  floral  wonders  stripped  from  his 
trees  as  soon  as  they  appeared,  and  hung  in  fantastic 
garlands  all  about  the  outer  limits  of  each  branch.  Yet 
that  is  precisely  what  those  mistaken  souls  do  who  turn 
the  simple,  beautiful  ways  of  their  children  into  drawing- 
room  displays  ;  who  catch  at  every  bright  little  saying  as 
soon  as  it  leaves  the  infantile  lips,  and  in  the  child's 
presence  dangle  it  before  admiring  guests.  Ah,  the 
wrongs  that  are  committed  in  this  way,  —  the  holy 
childish  impulses  that  are  sent  back,  despoiled,  into  the 
wondering,  childish  heart,  there  to  wither  to  a  little  wisp 
of  vanities !  The  sweet  music  that  springs  forth  uncon 
sciously  at  first,  but  in  time  halts  in  discords,  because  it 
has  learned  to  wait  for  the  perverted  maternal  echo  ! 

Mothers,  fathers  —  all  who  drink  in  happiness  through 
the  love  you  bear  to  little  children  —  revere  the  freshness 
of  a  young  nature.  Don't,  let  your  weak,  doting  admi 
ration,  or  your  still  weaker  pride  of  possession,  put  the 
blight  of  self-consciousness  upon  it.  I'd  rather  see  a 
child  of  mine  playing  with  the  molasses-jug,  just  after  I 
had  dressed  the  little  one  in  its  Sunday  clothes,  than  to 
hear  it  speak,  "My  name  is  Norval,"  with  the  assu 
rance  of  an  infant  prodigy.  I'd  almost  rather  it  should 
have  the  measles  as  a  chronic  institution,  than  to  see  it 
ready  at  all  times  to  display  its  repertoire  of  accomplish 
ments  before  strangers.  Luckily,  little  ones  are  not  apt 
to  fall  into  this  latter  accommodating  habit.  They  rather 
protest  with  all  their  charming  might  against  it. 

"  Isn't  it  always  so  ?  "  exclaimed  a  mother  in  despairing 
tones  the  other  day.  "  Can  you  ever  get  a  child  to  show 
off  when  you  wish  it  to  ?  "  And  there  sat  her  obdurate 


58  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

toddler,  outwardly  serene  in  its  enjoyment  of  a  candy 
bribe,  which  had  stickied  its  little  mouth  and  nose  in  a 
remarkable  way,  but  all  aflame  with  inward  determination 
not  to  sing  "  Bobby  Shaftoe."  "  It's  too  bad  !  "  cooed  the 
mother:  "you  ought  to  hear  him  do  it.  He  really  has 
quite  an  ear  for  music,  and  his  pronunciation  is  irresist 
ible." 

Now,  "  pronunciation  "  and  "  irresistible  "  might  not 
have  been  quite  as  comprehensible  terms  to  that  baby  as 
to  the  youthful  Candiac  or  to  Master  Heinecker ;  but 
there  was  one  thing  he  could  understand,  and  that  was  the 
unguarded  admiration  of  his  mother ;  not  her  appreciation 
and  love,  —  these  would  have  sunk  into  his  child-soul  like 
nourishing  dews,  —  but  the  admiration,  that,  falling  too 
often  on  a  young  nature,  blights  it,  or  forces  it  to  a  prema 
ture  and  unnatural  growth. 

Philly  knows  little  songs,  and  long  ago  he  could  say,  — 

"  Who  comes  here  ?    A  grenadier !  " 

but  we  always  have  been  very  careful  how  and  when  we 
brought  forward  these  accomplishments.  He  knows  that 
he  can  please  us  immensely  by  an  exercise  of  his  dramatic 
and  musical  gifts.  Before  he  grew  so  old  and  wise,  he 
believed  that  he  frightened  us  terribly,  when,  in  saying  that 
thrilling  nursery  lyric,  he  roared  forth,  "A  granny-deer!''' 
but  now  he  just  knows  that  we  enjoy  his  performances  as 
he  does  ours  ;  and  we  always  make  a  point  of  giving  a  fair 
exchange  in  such  entertainments. 

To  be  sure,  if  Philly,  instead  of  being  the  simple,  every 
day  child  that  he  is,  had  proved  to  be  an  infant  Mozart, 
with  God-given  genius  shining  from  his  eyes,  and  twitching 


P HILLY  AND   THE  REST.  S9 

his  restless  little  fingers,  of  course  we  should  feel  in  duty 
bound  to  lift  him  to  the  piano-stool.  We  would  do  this 
reverently,  I  think,  and  with  joyful  wonder ;  glad,  too,  that 
the  progress  of  science  and  the  arts  had  prepared  for  our 
dear  boy  something  better  than  a  clavichord.  We  might 
even  encourage  him  to  put  his  music  upon  paper,  if  his 
overflowing  soul  required  that  form  of  expression.  Or, 
premising  that  we  had  seen  marvellous  cows,  elephants, 
and  dogs  chalked  on  the  nursery  doors,  or  on  Philly's  one- 
eyed  and  tailless  hobby-horse ;  or  if,  when  he  was  six 
years  old,  another  Lady  Kenyon  had  walked  in,  and  our 
precious  little  one  had  in  half  an  hour  drawn  an  excellent 
portrait  of  her,  after  the  manner  of  the  six-year-old  Thomas 
Lawrence,  does  any  one  suppose  that  the  maternal  grasp 
would  have  robbed  our  boy's  right  hand  of  its  cunning  ? 

But  he's  not  a  Mozart.  He's  not  any  thing  in  particular, 
though  he's  every  thing  to  us.  He  simply  represents  "  a 
large  and  growing  class  of  the  community,"  as  the  news 
papers  say ;  and  so  his  case  is  worthy  of  consideration. 
He's  the  average  child  (ah  !  how  it  hurts  my  motherly  heart 
to  write  that ;  for  it  doesn't  believe  a  word  of  it,  though  I 
do)  ;  and,  being  the  average  child,  we  all  may  learn  a  lesson 
from  him  for  the  benefit  of  the  present  race  of  little  ones. 

We  can  resolve,  that,  for  him,  all  precocious  development 
is  hurtful :  premature  ability,  premature  politeness,  prema 
ture  pleasures,  premature  goodness  even,  —  Heaven  shield 
him  from  them  all !  Heaven  shield  him  and  every  other 
child  from  aught  that  will  stiffen  them  too  soon  into  little 
men  and  women ! 

I  know  three  little  tots,  five  and  six  years  old,  who 
lately  have  returned  from  a  visit  to  Europe.  One  of  these, 


60  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

under  the  modern  hot-house  plan  of  mental  culture,  has 
grown  to  be  such  an  intelligent  child,  such  a  little  lady ! 

I  asked  her  the  other  day  what  she  liked  best  of  all  she 
saw  in  Europe. 

"  Oh !  the  art-galleries,  of  course,"  she  replied  demurely : 
"  everybody  likes  those  best." 

Poor  child  !  Remembering  her,  with  what  comfort  I  recall 
a  recent  morning  spent  with  the  two  other  little  travellers. 

"  So  you  have  been  to  Europe,"  I  said.  "  Now,  Hal, 
tell  me  what  place  did  you  like  best  of  all  ? " 

"  Don't  know,"  said  Hal :  "  guess  I  liked  Munich  best, 
'cause  they  had  the  most  sojers  there." 

"  And  I  think  I  liked  Venice,"  put  in  wee,  bright-eyed 
May  •  "  because  it  was  there  that  mamma  bought  me  this 
sweet  little  doll "  [taking  it  up  caressingly].  "  Her  name's 
Katie.  I  must  finish  putting  on  her  clothes  :  it's  very  late 
in  the  morning  for  dolly  not  to  be  all  washed  and  dressed, 
I  think.  Ah  !  "  she  continued  plaintively,  as  she  attempted 
to  pin  dolly's  skirt,  "  this  band  is  too  big.  Katie  used  to 
just  fit  it ;  but  she's  real  thin  now,  she's  lost  so  much  saw 
dust  ! " 

Happy  little  May  !  Her  days  are  fresh  and  simple  and 
beautiful,  because  she  is  allowed  to  be  a  child.  Whatever 
training  is  expended  upon  her  is  so  loving  and  wise,  that 
she  grows  naturally  into  all  that  can  be  rationally  expected 
of  a  child  of  her  age.  Her  goodness  is  the  goodness  of  a 
warm-hearted,  unperverted  little  girl,  who  loves  the  dear 
God  already  "for  making  father  and  mother  and  every 
thing,"  but  who  has  no  startling  Sunday-school  predilec 
tions,  suggestive  of  an  early  transplanting.  Her  politeness 
comes  from  no  formal  schooling,  but  is  the  simple  out- 


P HILLY  AND   THE  REST.  6 1 

growth  of  the  "love  one  another"  that  comes  of  being 
loved,  —  not  of  being  doted  upon,  but  of  being  loved  as 
God  intended  she  should  be. 

May's  pretty  ways  are  in  her  presence  never  made  the 
subject  of  admiring  comment ;  nor  are  her  sweet,  childish 
sayings  echoed  by  the  mountains  of  appreciation  with  which 
children  among  the  comfortable  classes  are  so  apt  to  be 
surrounded.  If  she  asks  a  question,  it  is  thoughtfully 
answered ;  and  if  she  makes  any  of  those  sweet,  childish 
blunders  in  speech  or  conduct  that  often  are  the  charm 
of  our  homes,  they  either  are  apparently  not  noticed 
at  all  at  the  time,  or  they  are  gently  and  cheerfully  cor 
rected.  But  never  are  they  met  by  that  domestic  dyke,  in 
the  form  of  a  general  laugh  or  an  encouraging  deception, 
which  invariably  sends  them  back  upon  the  child  in  an 
overflow  of  pain  or  bewilderment. 

The  fondest  of  us  parents  often  are  the  most  cruel  to 
our  children.  This  comes  from  selfishly  regarding  them 
as  an  especial  personal  gift  to  ourselves,  something  to 
delight  and  amuse  us ;  while  at  the  same  time  we  forget, 
that,  if  they  are  given  to  us,  just  as  surely  are  we  given  to 
them. 

As  a  general  rule,  we  are  not  half  thoughtful  or  courte 
ous  enough  in  our  manners  toward  our  little  ones.  We 
are  too  apt  to  content  ourselves  with  a  general  conscious 
ness  of  being  right  in  the  main,  with  theoretically  intend 
ing  that  they  shall  grow  up  to  be  good  Christian  citizens, 
and  an  honor  to  ourselves.  We  make  big  sacrifices  in 
their  behalf,  revolve  fine  schemes,  and  bring  out  the  heavy 
artillery  of  our  nature  on  very  slight  occasions.  But  our 
graces,  our  courtesies,  our  delicate  acts  of  appreciation 


62  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

and  lofty  consideration  are  not  for  them.  These  are  re 
served  for  adult  friends  and  select  acquaintances,  as  if  to 
any  one  living  were  due  more  of  the  best  and  sweetest 
that  is  in  us  than  to  those  whom  we  have  brought  into  the 
world,  to  meet  its  jars,  temptations,  and  cruelties. 

Think  of  the  really  coarse  way  in  which  the  best  of 
us  sometimes  wound  our  children's  sensibilities.  How  we 
parade  their  special  traits  and  accomplishments,  and 
ignore  their  individuality ;  how  recklessly  we  break  in 
upon  their  little  plans  and  pleasures ;  how  carelessly  we 
comment  upon  their  defects  ;  how  we  laugh  at  their  child 
ish  distresses,  because  the  grieved  look  or  the  tragic  little 
scowl  is  "  so  cunning ; "  how  we  visit  our  vexation  of 
spirit  upon  their  innocent  heads  ;  how  we  resent  their 
inexperience ;  how  needlessly  or  sharply  we  deny  their 
little  petitions,  and  how  we  ignore  our  "Thank  you,"  and 
insist  upon  theirs  ;  how  we  jerk  or  push  them  in  our 
impatience ;  how  we  flout  their  earnest  questions,  and  deal 
out  cutting,  cruel  words  of  "wholesome  reproof,"  when 
perhaps  the  little  heart  is  quivering  under  some  real  or 
fancied  wrong !  It  is  terrible  to  think  of ! 

Many,  seeing  these  charges  in  the  aggregate,  will  indig 
nantly  deny  them.  Yet  what  parent,  answering  each  in 
turn,  could  plead  guiltless  to  them  all  ? 

I  shall  not  dwell  upon  the  monstrous  wrongs  of  chas 
tisement  too  often  inflicted  upon  children,  —  such  as  beat 
ing,  threatening,  frightening,  and  that  meanest  act  of  all, 
the  "  boxing  "  of  ears.  The  dear  Christ  teaches  no  hard 
lesson  of  harshness  or  brute  force  toward  the  little  ones 
committed  to  our  care.  Even  as  he  was  "subject  unto" 
his  parents,  returning  meekly  with  them  from  Jerusalem 


P HILLY  AND   THE  REST.  63 

while  his  child-soul  yearned  to  be  about  his  Father's  busi 
ness,  so  would  he  have  our  little  ones  subject  unto  us. 
They  are  ours  to  lead  and  protect,  to  teach  and  warn  and 
cherish ;  ours  to  love  wisely,  to  deal  with  firmly  and  rever 
ently, —  mirrors  of  our  example,  gleaners  of  the  harvest 
of  our  home-life,  —  not  ours  to  humor  and  rebuff,  and 
sacrifice  to  our  hundred  weaknesses.  Well  for  the  father 
and  mother  to  whom  their  child's  heart  is  as  a  holy  of 
holies ;  and  their  child's  foibles  and  human  tendencies  as 
stumbling-blocks,  not  to  vex  and  upset  parents,  but  which 
the  little  one  must  wisely  and  lovingly  be  taught  to  over 
come.  Heaven  bless  the  always  cheerful,  gentle-voiced,  con 
scientious  parent !  And  Heaven  help  all  those,  who,  when 
it  is  too  late  to  atone,  remember  with  anguish  the  quivering 
lip  and  pleading  look  of  a  little  face  that  has  passed  away  ! 

Mothers,  when  in  your  hearts  rises  that  first  blessed 
thought,  God  has  given  to  me  a  child,  then  and  there  say, 
"  O  child  !  He  has  given  me  to  thee.  He  has  chosen  me 
to  be  thy  mother." 

Then,  with  His  help,  shall  your  little  one  be  reared.  No 
selfish  fondness  nor  pride  shall  rob  it  of  its  just  rights ; 
not  a  tithe  shall  be  taken  from  its  innocent,  sweet  baby 
hood,  from  its  growing  infancy,  its  blithesome  childhood. 
Sufficient  unto  each  day  shall  be  its  daily  progress.  Van 
ity  shall  not  warp  it,  nor  school-books  crush,  nor  undue 
stimulus  wrong  it  of  its  fair  and  just  proportions. 

When  you  say,  with  the  woman  of  old,  "Lo,  I  have 
given  a  man  unto  the  world,"  be  guarded  lest  you  cheat  it, 
and  Heaven  too,  by  not  allowing  that  man  first  to  be,  in 
the  fullest  sense,  a  little  child. 


OUR  AGGY. 


[DVISABLE,  Mrs.  Winthrop  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  ad 
visable  !  Why,  it  is  a  clear  case  of  duty  !  If  no 
one  else  can  be  induced  to  take  the  poor  girl,  I 
will  assume  the  responsibility  myself,  though  I  have  three 
servants  already." 

Mrs.  Winthrop,  a  Bostonian,  of  "  Mayflower  "  descent, 
who  had  only  lately  entered  our  New  York  set,  and  who 
was  considerate  and  deferential  accordingly,  gave  an  ad 
miring  start,  and  suggested  her  fear  that  ."  The  creature 
would  drive  me  wild." 

"  I  have  no  such  apprehension,"  was  my  lofty  reply : 
"kindness  and  firmness  must  inevitably  overcome  the  most 
refractoiy  natures.  Besides,  the  child  may  not  be  half  as 
bad  as  Mrs.  Grimmons  imagines." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  inclined  her  head  slightly  toward  her 
left  shoulder,  and,  as  if  yielding  to  an  irresistible  internal 
flood  of  argument,  ejaculated  (for  the  twentieth  time  dur 
ing  our  morning's  conversation),  "  Yes-s  !  ?  " 

And  here  allow  me  to  relieve  myself  concerning  this  in 
explicable  Boston  "  Yes."  It  cannot  be  written  ;  and  I 
defy  the  most  skilful  printer,  by  means  of  any  complica- 

64 


OUR  AGGY.  65 

tion  of  italics,  dashes,  or  notes  of  interrogation  or  excla 
mation,  to  express  it  in  all  its  fulness,  its  provokingness. 
It  is  yielding,  defiant,  coaxing,  snubbing,  conciliatory,  and 
threatening,  all  in  a  breath.  It  is  susceptible  of  every 
shade  of  meaning,  of  almost  every  slang  reply  that  one 
can  hear  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific.  It  says,  "  Just 
so,"  and  "  You  can't  come  it  over  me ! "  "  Go  it,  my 
hearty  !  "  and  "  A  leetle  tough  ! "  "  What  a  whopper !  " 
and  "  Them's  my  sentiments  !  "  "  Go  it  blind  ! "  "  Aren't 
you  stretching  it  ?  "  "  Bully  for  you !  "  "  Hit  'em  again  ! " 
"  No,  yer  don't !  "  and  "  Sartain  now  !  "  And  all  the  time 
it  is  so  Bostonianly  elegant  that  one  must  wince  under  it 
with  folded  hands,  and  take  its  meaning  as  one  best  can. 

Mrs.  Winthrop's  "  Yes-s /?"  meant  a  great  deal,  and  I 
knew  it. 

In  the  first  place,  it  meant,  "  You  think  so,  do  you  ?  " 
Second,  "  I  hardly  think  you  can  succeed  where  the  intel 
lectual  Mrs.  Grimmons  failed  ;  but  who  can  tell  ? "  Third, 
"  What  a  conceited  woman  you  are  if  you  only  knew  it !  " 
Fourth,  "  You  are  entirely  wrong ;  but  you  must  find  it 
out  in  the  regular  way."  And  Fifth,  "  Well,  we're  fortu 
nate,  at  least,  in  getting  the  girl  temporarily  off  our 
hands." 

Taking  in  all  this  with  my  usual  acumen,  I  cut  the  mat 
ter  short  with,  — 

"  You  will  please  inform  the  ladies  of  my  resolve,  Mrs. 
Winthrop,  as  I  cannot  attend  the  sewing-meeting  to-day. 
They  may  send  the  girl  to  me  on  Monday  morning  if  she 
is  not  otherwise  disposed  of  by  that  time." 

"  I  shall  do  so,"  rejoined  my  visitor,  rising  gracefully 
from  the  sofa.  "And  now,  my  dear  friend,  when  may  we 
hope  to  see  you  and  your  good  husband  at  No.  69  ? " 


66  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

"Very  soon,  thank  you,"  I  answered,  throwing  aside  my 
business  air;  "on  the  first  evening,  in  fact,  when  I  can 
succeed  in  enticing  Mr.  Brown  from  his  library  chair. 
How  is  your  little  Everett,  Mrs.  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  nicely,  thank  you.  He  and  Annie  are  attending 
school  now.  Do  allow  your  little  ones  to  visit  them  on 
Saturdays.  Your  Julie  is  so  charming  and  well-behaved 
that  I  should  really  admire  to  have  Annie  become  intimate 
with  her." 

I  assured  Mrs.  Winthrop,  who,  whatever  may  be  her 
peculiarities,  has  certainly  fine  instincts  where  children  are 
concerned,  that  I  considered  Julie  quite  too  young  to 
leave  "  mother  "  yet. 

"  Yes-s  !  ?  "  returned  Mrs.  Winthrop  musingly,  adding, 
in  a  more  sprightly  tone,  "but  cannot  'mother'  come 
also  ? " 

By  this  time  the  door  was  reached  ;  and,  after  many  a 
pleasant  smile  and  nod  and  half-heard  sentence  on  both 
sides,  we  parted,  the  lady's  elegant  skirts  sweeping  down 
the  stone  steps,  while  I  mounted  slowly  and  thoughtfully 
to  the  nursery,  feeling  morally  sure  that  "  the  creature " 
would  make  her  appearance  on  Monday. 

Yes,  morally  sure.  All  the  rest  of  that  day  I  kept  ask 
ing  myself,  a  la  Bulwer,  "What  will  I  do  with  her?" 
And  next,  the  married  woman's  watchword,  "  What  will 
He  say  ? "  came  forcibly  to  mind.  Poor  Theophilus  !  my 
faultless,  ease-loving,  propriety-worshipping  master  of  the 
house  !  What  would  he  say,  indeed  ?  I  trembled  to  think 
of  it.  Why,  even  Ann  McNamara,  our  peerless  cook,  had 
narrowly  escaped  being  "  dismissed  "  by  him  the  day  be 
fore,  just  because  she  had  served  the  ragout  in  an  unsuita- 


OUR  AGGY.  67 

ble  dish ;  and  Bettys  and  Biddys  innumerable  had  been 
banished  from  our  domicile  for  the  most  petty  offences 
against  his  fastidious  taste.  Probably  we  should  not  by 
this  time  have  had  a  servant  in  the  house,  had  I  not,  a 
few  weeks  before,  "  taken  a  stand  "  in  rather  a  decided 
manner.  Yes,  the  small-failings  question  had  been 
then  and  there  settled  between  us  for  all  time.  Thence 
forth  no  girl  who  suited  me  should  share  the  fate  of  my 
sainted  highly  respectable  ones  of  the  past.  But  could 
my  new  girl,  my  rara  avis,  take  shelter  under  the  statute  ? 
I  had  seen  her,  and  knew,  or  fancied  I  knew,  what  was 
before  me.  But  Theophilus  ! 

Well,  the  only  way  was  to  put  a  bold  face  on  the  matter. 
Accordingly,  as  the  shades  of  evening  approached,  I  sum 
moned  all  my  forces,  and  prepared  to  meet  his  lordship. 
Under  the  circumstances,  his  first  salutation  was  not  en 
couraging. 

"  Emma,  dear,  judging  from  appearances,  one  would 
suppose  Mary's  usual  way  of  laying  the  door-mat  was  to 
fling  it  from  the  second-story  window.  I  am  afraid  she 
never  will  be  tidy  enough  to  suit  us." 

"  I  fear  so  too,"  I  replied  amiably ;  for  a  bright  idea 
had  just  struck  me.  "  The  fact  is,  Theophilus,  it  is  im 
possible  to  teach  these  '  competent '  help  any  thing.  What 
we  really  want  is  a  raw  girl." 

"  A  what !  Emma  ? "  exclaimed  Theophilus,  horror- 
stricken,  as,  after  placing  his  boots  with  mathematical 
accuracy  near  the  polished  register,  he  stood  with  arrested 
slipper  in  each  hand. 

"  A  raw  girl ;  one  that  is  not  hopelessly  set  in  other 
people's  ways,  —  that,  —  in  short,  —  one  that  is,  as  you 


68  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

may  say,  —  ignorant,  but  willing  to  learn,"  said  I  sweetly, 
giving  his  elegant  "wrapper"  a  caressing  shake  as  I 
handed  it  to  him. 

"  A  Castle-Garden  emigrant,  for  instance,  newly-landed, 
or  a  blushing  Huyter-spluyter  fresh  from  the  Vaterland  ? " 
suggested  Theophilus,  with  intense  humor,  as  he  softly 
slid  himself  into  the  gown,  and  assumed  his  waiting-for- 
dinner  attitude  before  the  fire. 

"  No,  no  !  "  I  laughed  nervously,  "  nothing  of  that  sort ; 
but,  ahem  !  "  —  as  if  the  idea  had  just  flashed  upon  me  — 
"what  do  you  say,  now,  Theoph,  to  my  trying  a  colored 
girl  ? " 

Theophilus  either  was  speechless,  or  did  not  choose  to 
reply ;  and  I  proceeded,  — 

"  Not  one  of  those  deceitful,  half-and-half  yellow  kind, 
that  are  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other,  but  a  genuine 
negress.  They're  generally  such  docile-tempered  crea 
tures,  you  know,  Theoph ;  and,  nowadays,  it  really  seems 
to  be  a  Christian  duty  to  "  — 

"  Christian  fiddlestick  !  "  interrupted  Theophilus  pro 
fanely.  "  Why,  Emma,  you're  crazy  !  "  And  my  gentle 
man  significantly  consulted  his  watch. 

Remembering  at  this  critical  moment  the  advice  of  the 
ancient  philosopher  concerning  hungry  men,  I  adjourned 
at  once  to  the  dining-room,  and  there  held  a  session  of 
great  length  and  brilliancy,  which,  it  is  needless  to  add, 
resulted  in  the  total  subjugation  of  the  refractory  member. 
What  I  said,  or  what  I  did  not  say,  can  not  be  detailed 
here.  Oh !  the  arguments  I  was  forced  to  drive  into  that 
man  before  he  admitted  what  by  this  time  had  grown  to 
positive  conviction  with  me;  viz.,  that  to  have  a  real 


OUR  AGGY.  69 

Southern  negro  in  our  house,  all  things  considered,  was 
one  of  the  greatest  blessings  that  could  befall  us. 

All  this  happened  long  ago,  during  war-times.  I  had 
learned  this  poor  slave-girl's  history  at  our  last  society- 
meeting.  She  and  her  father  had  escaped  from  Virginia 
into  the  Union  lines.  Theoretically  a  welcome  had  been 
shown  them  ;  but  practically  the  girl  had,  by  her  insubor 
dination  and  impishness,  proved  too  much  for  their  hospi 
tality,  and  a  unanimous  ticket-of-leave  had  soon  been  voted 
her.  Two  young  soldiers  coming  Northward  had,  out  of 
pity  for  the  good  old  father,  brought  him  and  his  child  to 
New  York,  and  presented  them  to  our  Ladies'  Soldiers' 
Aid  Society. 

The  old  man  was  soon  disposed  of ;  but  the  girl,  ah ! 
there  was  the  rub.  One  by  one  impulsive  members  cour 
ageously  gave  her  a  trial ;  but  at  each  weekly  meeting  the 
despairing  mistresses  would  in  turn  restore  her  to  the 
bosom  of  the  Society,  declaring  that  they  could  do  nothing 
with  her.  No  direct  charges  were  made  ;  and  all  that.one 
could  gather  from  the  exclamations  and  complaints  usually 
vented  on  these  occasions,  was  that  the  girl  had  proved  to 
be  "queer,"  "forlorn,"  "unmanageable,"  and  "awful,"  — 
singular  qualities,  certainly,  in  one  who  had  worked  in  the 
fields  all  her  young  life,  who  had  never  known  a  mother's 
care,  and  to  whom  all  womanly  and  household  duties  were 
sealed  mysteries. 

Meantime  the  strange  creature  would  stand  in  a  cor 
ner  of  the  fine  parlor,  rolling  her  great  dark  eyes  about, 
glancing  from  the  company  to  the  ceiling,  and  from  the 
ceiling  to  the  floor,  in  quick  flashes  of  white  and  black, 
her  hands  folded  meekly  before  her,  with  now  and  then  a 


70  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

restless  movement  of  her  feet  that  invariably  caused  the 
ladies  near  her  to  start  in  spite  of  themselves.  Some 
times,  while  looking  the  image  of  mute  despair,  she  would 
suddenly  clap  her  hands  upon  her  knees,  and  burst  into  a 
sputtering  laugh,  only  to  appear  more  solemn  than  ever 
the  next  instant. 

She  was  about  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  the  blackest 
of  the  black.  Her  dress  was  a  scant  blue  calico  skirt, 
reaching  nearly  to  the  ankles,  over  which  a  long  crash  bib 
was  drawn  without  a  fold  from  neck  to  knee.  Each  tem 
ple  was  adorned  with  a  few  stiffly-plaited  spikes  emerging 
from  the  luxuriant  wool ;  and  her  feet  were  covered  with 
good  new  shoes  and  stockings,  very  much  against  her 
will,  as  it  subsequently  proved. 

"  Why  not  take  the  child  myself  ? "  I  had  thought,  while 
sitting  near  her  corner  at  the  last  meeting,  and  fancying  I 
could  detect  a  promise  in  her  face  of  something  better  than 
she  had  yet  chosen  to  display  to  her  Northern  friends. 
But  the  scheme  had  soon  been  abandoned  as  impractica 
ble,  and  probably  never  would  have  recurred  to  me  had 
not  Mrs.  Winthrop,  during  her  morning  call,  suggested,  in 
her  non-committal  way,  that  it  was  "  advisable  "  a  home 
should  be  found  for  the  poor  creature. 

Theophilus,  as  I  have  already  intimated,  had  been  brought 
to  that  state  of  mind  so  often  attained  by  the  acquiescing 
Barkis.  Still  the  work  of  preparation  was  not  complete. 
Our  last  nurse  had  contrived  to  smuggle  into  the  nursery 
a  story  of  a  "  big  black  nigger,"  who  thought  nothing  of 
gobbling  down  naughty  boys  and  girls.  Her  hearers, 
strong  in  faith,  had  listened  and  believed  ;  and,  ever  since, 
negroes  in  general,  and  his  sable  cannibalship  in  particu- 


OUR  AGGY.  71 

lar,  had  been  the  terror  of  their  young  lives.  Of  the  chil 
dren,  young  Theophilus  (though  it  may  be  unwomanly 
and  quite  out  of  my  sphere  for  me  to  say  so)  was  a  greater 
coward  than  either  of  the  girls.  He  was  afraid  of  his  own 
shadow.  A  dark  room  was  fuller  to  him  than  Madame 
Tussaud's  Chamber  of  Horrors.  Once  he  locked  himself 
in  a  pantry,  and  screamed  till  he  fell  almost  into  a  convul 
sion  before  it  occurred  to  him  to  unlock  the  door  and  come 
out.  These  I  mention  merely  as  slight  psychological 
peculiarities.  Being  our  only  son,  his  father  and  I  centred 
our  fondest  hopes  in  him. 

Well,  what  poor  little  Philly  would  do  or  say  when  my 
"  contraband  "  should  appear  I  couldn't  imagine.  Mean 
time,  however,  I  resolved  to  clarify  his  ideas  somewhat  on 
the  negro  question,  and  trust  to  fate  for  the  result.  As 
for  Julie  and  Nelly,  they  soon  became  sound  to  the  core 
on  the  subject ;  but  I  dreaded  to  think  of  the  effect  of  that 
woolly  head  and  those  great  rolling  eyes  upon  the  baby. 
So  much  for  upstairs. 

On  Sunday  morning  I  descended  to  the  kitchen  while 
Theophilus  was  preparing  to  shave.  Ann  was  there  in  full 
glory.  It  was  her  Sunday  out ;  and  her  winter  style  set 
off  her  portly  figure  to  advantage.  The  instant  my  foot 
crossed  the  door-sill  I  could  not  resist  a  secret  recognition 
of  her  local  supremacy.  Nora  soon  came  in  with  the 
coal-scuttle,  and  crinoline  twice  as  extensive  as  my  own ; 
while  Ellen,  conscious  of  her  unimpeachability  as  first-class 
waitress,  was  washing  dishes  in  the  corner.  Now  was  the 
time  to  strike  the  final  blow.  In  a  few  feeling  words  I 
told  my  assembled  audience  the  story  of  the  poor  "  con 
traband."  They  heard  me  in  silence,  preferring,  as  usual, 


72  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

to  defer  comment  until  they  had  the  kitchen  entirely  to 
themselves.  Finally  I  plunged  into  the  catastrophe,  and 
went  on  swimmingly,  until  arrested  by  Ann's  indignant 
outburst,  — 

"  Och  !  is  it  take  the  dirrity  crayture  yerself,  yer  mane, 
ma'am  ? " 

"  Certainly,"  I  returned  firmly,  "  if  no  one  shelters  her 
or  teaches  her  to  work,  the  poor  girl  must  perish  in  the 
streets." 

"  An'  it's  what  I  never  did,  ma'am,  slape  and  ate  wid 
nagers  ;  an'  I'll  not  be  afther  beginnin'  it  now.  So,  if  ye 
plaze,  ma'am,  ye'll  be  engagin'  another  cook  agen  me 
month's  up." 

Nora  said  nothing;  and  Ellen,  after  swinging  into  the 
pantry  with  a  tray  full  of  china,  came  out  with  a  lofty,  — 

"  I'd  like  to  be  lavin'  with  Ann,  too,  ma'am." 

Here  was  a  fine  dilemma !  But  I  was  determined  to 
carry  out  my  project. 

"  You  need  neither  eat  nor  sleep  with  her  :  she  can  take 
her  meals  at  a  side-table,  and  use  the  small  garret-room. 
The  girl  is  coming  to-morrow ;  and  I  intend  that  she  shall 
be  treated  kindly." 

With  these  words  I  strode  majestically  from  the  kitch 
en,  giving  no  token  of  the  sinking  at  my  heart :  not  even 
when  I  reached  the  dressing-room,  except  by  shutting  the 
door  after  me  so  violently  that  Theophilus,  I  regret  to  say, 
cut  his  chin. 

On  Monday  morning  we  were  startled  by  the  most 
terrific  yells  and  screams  that  ever  mortal  parents  heard. 
Theophilus  rushed  first ;  I  followed,  quite  sure  that  Mr. 


OUR  AGGY.  73 

Norris's  bull-dog  had  got  in  from  the  next  yard,  and  was 
crunching  every  one  of  dear  little  Philly's  bones. 

Arriving  at  the  turn  of  the  stairs,  we  saw  at  a  glance 
that  our  boy  was  safe  and  sound,  though  screaming  in  an 
agony  of  terror.  His  little  sisters  were  with  him  in  the 
hall,  both  talking  at  once,  trying  to  bring  him  to  reason  ; 
while  Ann,  Ellen,  and  Nora  were  on  the  spot,  "  speaking 
their  minds  "  at  concert  pitch. 

Meanwhile  the  innocent  cause  of  all  this  commotion 
stood  near  the  hat-stand,  with  a  half-doleful,  half-mischiev 
ous  expression  of  countenance,  her  hands  plucking  nerv 
ously  at  the  fringe  of  her  coarse  shawl,  and  her  whole 
aspect  betokening  either  amusement  or  distress,  it  was 
impossible  to  decide  which. 

"  Mrs.  Grimmons's  boy  left  her  here,  ma'am.  She 
wouldn't  sit,  nor  go  up  stairs  nor  down,"  whispered  Nora, 
hurrying  toward  me.  "  The  child  was  frightened  into  fits, 
indeed  he  was,  ma'am,  at  the  very  sight  of  her." 

Philly  was  soon  high  and  safe  in  his  father's  arms, 
being  lectured  and  hugged  at  the  same  time.  Without 
replying  to  Nora,  I  nodded  to  the  new-comer,  saying 
with  my  usual  dignity,  as  I  led  the  way  to  the  room  at  the 
end  of  the  hall,  "  Step  this  way,  please." 

On  reaching  the  door,  a  suppressed  giggle  from  the 
top  of  the  kitchen-stair  caused  me  to  turn.  The  maiden  by 
the  hat-stand  had  not  budged  an  inch. 

"  Will  you  come  this  way,  please  ?  "  I  repeated  kindly, 
in  a  louder  tone. 

No  answer  and  no  movement.  The  children,  seeing  fun 
ahead,  fairly  danced  with  delight. 

"  Behave  yourselves,  children  !  "  I  commanded.  "  There, 
1 


74  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

the  baby  is  awake  :  run  up,  Nora !  —  Now,  my  girl,"  re 
suming  my  bland  tone,  "  just  come  this  way,  will  you  ? " 

Was  she  marble,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  ebony? 
Her  immovability  was  scarcely  human. 

At  this  juncture  Theophilus,  whose  manner  never 
seemed  to  me  half  so  impressive  as  my  own,  caught  her 
eye.  He  pointed  to  the  room-door.  The  girl  darted 
through  the  hall,  and  stood  beside  me  in  an  instant,  her 
lithe  frame  all  in  a  quiver. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  my  child,"  I  said  gently,  feeling 
really  sorry  for  the  poor  creature  :  "  no  one  here  will  harm 
you.  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Nuffin,"  she  replied,  with  a  sulky  pout. 

"  You  certainly  must  have  some  name.  What  did  the 
soldiers  call  you  ?  " 

"  Nig." 

"What  else?" 

"  Nuffin'  else,  'cept  'fractory  an'  debbil." 

"  But  your  father,  what  does  he  call  you  ? " 

"  What  he  call  me  ?     He  call  me  gal." 

"  Nothing  else  ?  " 

"  Nuffin',  'cept  when  I'se  sick  er  bin  whipt :  den  he  call 
me  Aggy." 

"Aggy's  your  name,  then.  Was  that  your  mother's 
name  ? " 

"  What  say,  missy  ? "  with  a  blank  stare. 

"  Was  your  mother's  name  Aggy  ? " 

"'Spect  not;  'spect  I  didn't  hab  no  mudder.  I'se 
gwine ; "  and  with  these  words  Miss  Aggy  turned,  and 
started  resolutely  for  the  door. 

Theophilus  stepped  nimbly  in  advance  of  her,  locked  it, 


OUR  AGGY.  75 

V 

and  put  the  key  into  his  pocket.  From  that  moment  he 
was  her  acknowledged  master. 

The  breakfast-bell  rang.  "  Aggy,"  said  I,  not  wishing 
to  consign  her  yet  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  help, 
"  come  back  and  sit  down." 

She  obeyed. 

"  Don't  leave  this  room  until  I  return." 

"No,  missy." 

I  gave  one  penetrating  look  at  the  girl,  and  saw  that 
she  was  in  earnest.  Mustering  the  children  (Philly  was 
long  ago  safely  perched  upon  the  kitchen  table),  we 
descended  to  the  basement. 

Theophilus  behaved  pretty  well  at  breakfast,  consider 
ing  ;  merely  hinting  that  I  should  have  my  hands  full,  and 
that  firmness  must  be  the  order  of  the  day,  as  if  I  didn't 
know  that  already. 

Suddenly  he  broke  out  with  one  of  his  speeches. 

"I  say,  Em,  as  the  secretary  of  your  society  was  not 
present  to  take  minutes,  wouldn't  it  be  well  for  me  to  draw 
up  a  report  of  this  morning's  pro  "  — 

The  sentence  was  cut  short  by  a  tremendous  crash,  a 
heavy  fall,  and  a  noise  as  of  breaking  glass  and  timbers 
above  stairs. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  cried  Theophilus,  "  what's  that  ?  " 

With  my  heart  in  my  throat,  to  say  nothing  of  the  hot 
coffee,  I  flew  up  the  stairs,  followed  by  children,  servants, 
and  Theophilus  bringing  up  the  rear.  When  we  reached 
the  first  landing,  what  a  spectacle  presented  itself ! 

There,  in  the  hall,  lay  a  confused  heap  of  rubbish,  com 
posed  of  what  remained  of  our  superb  new  hat-stand, 
splinters  of  rosewood,  umbrellas,  canes,  cloaks,  hats, 
Aggy,  and  any  quantity  of  broken  looking-glass. 


?6  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

The  furniture  was  precious;  but,  of  course,  humanity 
ranked  first.  We  pulled  Aggy  from  the  ruins. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  child  ?  Are  you  killed  ?  "  I  asked, 
almost  hoping  that  she  was. 

"  'Spect  I  be,  dat's  a  fac,"  replied  the  girl,  glaring  around 
her  in  a  frightened  way,  but  moving  off  nimbly  enough  as 
she  spoke. 

"  O  Aggy,  you  naughty  girl !  what  were  you  doing  ? 
How  came  you  to  break  the  hat-stand?"  I  demanded, 
endeavoring  to  restrain  my  temper. 

"  Donno ;  'spect  I'us  too  hebby  fur  it,"  answered  Aggy 
sullenly.  "  'Tain't  wurf  nuffin'." 

By  dint  of  super-woman  exertions,  I  succeeded  in  get 
ting  the  rubbish  cleared  away,  and  restoring  order  without 
becoming  exasperated.  Theophilus  provoked  me  dread 
fully,  however,  by  saying  he  wished  he  could  stay  at  home, 
and  see  the  fun. 

Why  attempt  to  detail  the  tortures  of  that  first  day  ?  It 
was  over  at  last,  with  all  its  trials  and  aggravations,  and 
my  weary  head  pressed  its  uneasy  pillow.  Children  and 
servants  were  asleep,  Aggy  was  long  ago  stowed  away  in 
her  little  room,  and  in  the  quiet  of  the  starry  December 
night  Theophilus  and  I  held  a  consultation. 

His  arguments  were  unanswerable  ;  his  sarcasms  scath 
ing  ;  but  I  held  my  ground.  A  few  mishaps  at  first,  I 
urged,  were  to  be  expected.  In  a  day  or  two  the  girl 
would  improve  —  indeed,  there  was  a  slight  change  for  the 
better  already  —  Philly  would  become  ashamed  of  his 
foolish  terrors  —  it  was  a  clear  case  of  charity  —  and,  in 
short,  I  wanted  to  give  the  girl  a  fair  trial,  because  —  be 
cause  —  I  wanted  to. 


OUR  AGGY.  77 

At  last  the  energies  of  Theophilus,  overcome  either  by 
sleepiness  or  the  force  of  my  reasoning,  began  to  flag.  He 
had  even  said,  "  Perhaps  so,  my  dear ; "  and  after  that, 
his  replies  grew  fainter,  more  wavering,  and,  like  certain 
rare  visits,  very  few  and  far  between.  Finally,  after  wait 
ing  nearly  five  minutes  for  a  reply  to  a  perfectly  self-evident 
proposition,  I  heard  something. 

Not  from  Theophilus  :  he  had  gone  off  on  a  dream- 
journey,  like  Christian,  leaving  his  poor  wife  in  the  City  of 
Wakefulness.  It  was  a  noise  in  the  house  ! 

Not  a  daytime  noise  ;  but  one  of  those  stealthy,  indefin 
able,  long-interval  noises,  that,  coming  in  the  darkness  of 
the  early  morning  hours,  make  one's  blood  creep  and  cur 
dle  !  Creak — creak  —  softer  and  softer  —  then  dying 
away  entirely.  Pshaw :  I  thought,  it's  the  back  shutter ! 
No  :  shutters  don't  throw  up  a  phosphorescent  light ;  and 
now,  looking  from  my  bed  into  the  room  where  the  chil 
dren  slept,  I  could  plainly  see  a  faint  glimmer  through  the 
ventilator  window.  This  ventilator,  or  "  well,"  went  through 
the  centre  of  the  house,  from  basement  to  roof.  In  a 
moment  the  light,  though  faint  still,  grew  stronger,  more 
definite.  It  was  the  gleam  of  a  lighted  candle  from  below, 
flashing  an  instant,  then  vanishing. 

"  Theophilus  !  "  I  cried,  in  a  stage  whisper  :  "  wake 
up  !  quick  !  " 

He  turned  over  like  a  sick  buffalo. 

"  O  Theoph  !  "  bending  nearer,  and  giving  him  a  slight 
shake,  "  do  get  up  !  there's  a  man  in  the  house  !" 

"  Ye-e-s,"  grunted  my  natural  protector,  "  I  know  it ;  go 
to  sleep,  dear." 

There's  no  use  mincing  the  matter.  I  did  get  agitated  : 
7* 


78  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

I  poked  him,  shook  him,  jerked  the  pillow  from  under  his 
head,  and  finally  restored  him  to  consciousness. 

As  thoroughly  alert  now  as  myself,  he  sprang  to  the 
floor,  and,  after  a  few  hasty  tiptoe  preparations,  started  for 
the  basement,  pistol  in  hand. 

I  rushed  frantically  into  the  children's  room,  and  sat  on 
the  foot  of  their  bed,  inwardly  praying  that  the  robber's 
blood  might  not  be  upon  my  poor  husband's  soul. 

Good  heavens  !  The  stealthy  steps  were  coming  up  the 
stairs,  approaching  my  very  door  ! 

I  flew,  and  locked  it. 

"  Em,"  said  Theoph's  voice  outside,  "  if  you  want  fun, 
come  down." 

Decidedly  relieved,  I  hastened  into  the  hall.  He 
motioned  me  to  follow  him  silently.  Arrived  at  the  head 
of  the  kitchen-stairs,  Theophilus  crammed  the  corner  of 
his  dressing-gown  into  his  mouth,  and  made  signs  for  me 
to  look. 

There  on  the  lowest  step,  sat  Aggy ;  a  lighted  candle 
and  the  open  cake-box  were  on  the  floor  beside  her,  and 
on  her  lap  was  a  half-eaten  apple-pie,  which  she  was 
rapidly  demolishing. 

"Aggy/"  cried  Theoph,  in  an  awful  voice. 

The  pie  fell  from  her  lap,  as,  with  a  scream,  she  darted 
up,  flew  to  the  end  of  the  kitchen  hall,  and  stood  at  bay, 
with  her  back  against  the  door. 

"  Aggy,"  said  I,  "  what  in  the  world  possessed  you  to 
come  down  here  like  a  thief,  at  this  hour  of  the  night, 
to  take  what  did  not  belong  to  you  ?  " 

She  crouched  to  the  floor,  looking  up  at  us  nervously. 
Something  in  the  expression  of  our  faces  re-assured  her. 


OUR  AGGY.  79 

"  Couldn't  he'p  it  nohow,  missy :  I  was  'mos'  starved. 
Don'  lick  dis  nigger  dis  time,  missy." 

She  had  eaten  three  hearty  meals  that  day,  to  my  cer 
tain  knowledge ;  but  a  chance  glimpse  into  the  dining- 
room  pantry  had  proved  too  much  for  her. 

"I  shall  not  whip  you,  Aggy,"  said  I,  "though  you  have 
done  a  very  wrong  act.  Put  the  cake-box  back  into  the 
pantry. 

She  obeyed. 

"  Now  go  to  bed,  and  never  attempt  any  thing  of  this 
kind  again.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  missy.  I'se  sorry  for  'sturbin'  you,  missy,  I  jess 
is,"  answered  Aggy,  bending  furtively  to  the  floor,  and 
clapping  a  big  piece  of  the  broken  pie  into  her  mouth  • 
"  but  I  likes  'em  dreffel." 

Obeying  a  sign  from  Theophilus,  the  damsel  pre 
ceded  us  in  our  ascent  with  perfect  decorum,  until  half 
way  up  the  garret  flight,  when  apparently  seized  with  some 
droll  idea  concerning  the  night's  adventure,  she  broke 
into  a  loud  "Gorry !  "  and  doubling  herself  with  laughter, 
bounded  with  something  between  a  spring  and  a  caper, 
up  to  her  room.  In  a  moment  or  two  we  heard  her  clear 
voice  falling  through  the  "startled  air"  in  an. exultant 
verse,  each  line  ending  with  a  jerk,  as  though  the  undress 
ing  process  kept  time  with  it :  — 

"  All  de  good  people  when  dey  die  — 

Hally-lujee-rum  I 
Go  to  lib  in  de  happy  sky  — 

Hally-lujee-rum  !  " 

All  things  considered,  it  was  astonishing  how  well  our 


80  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

charge  comported  herself  for  a  day  or  two  after  this.  My 
kindness-principle  evidently  worked  well,  and  I  was  not 
without  hope  that  Aggy  might  yet  become  a  useful  member 
of  society.  To  be  sure,  she  had  some  very  troublesome 
peculiarities,  such  as  shouting,  in  a  loud  but  not  unmusical 
voice,  snatches  of  hymns  and  quaint  negro  songs,  at  all 
hours  and  under  the  most  inopportune  circumstances ; 
snapping  her  great  white  teeth  at  poor  Philly  whenever 
she  caught  him  alone,  thereby  throwing  the  little  darling 
almost  into  spasms;  and,  when  not  watched,  invariably 
going  up  stairs  outside  the  balustrade,  to  the  delight  of  the 
children,  who  risked  their  necks  daily  in  humble  imitation. 
Shoes  and  stockings  were  her  especial  detestation ;  and  in 
many  a  delightful  barefoot  hour  did  she  elude  my  vigil 
ance,  sometimes  going,  like 

"...  my  son  John, 
With  one  stocking  off  and  one  stocking  on," 

in  order  to  have  a  presentable  foot  ready  for  a  surprise. 
On  these  occasions,  meeting  her  suddenly  in  the  halls,  I, 
dupe  that  I  was,  contented  myself  with  a  glance,  little  sus 
pecting  that  the  fact  of  her  hopping,  or  being  perched  upon 
one  foot,  meant  any  thing  more  than  an  every-day  antic. 

Added  to  these  eccentricities  was  an  inconvenient  habit, 
strangely  out  of  keeping  with  her  usual  animation,  of  fall 
ing  asleep  any  time  and  any  where.  Keyholes  and  cracks 
of  doors  were  a  certain  conquering  power  with  her.  Many 
a  time  we  found  the  creature  lying  at  full  length  upon  the 
floor,  her  ear  pressed  to  the  carpet,  and  every  nerve 
strained  to  catch  the  conversations  going  on  in  the  room 
below ;  and  more  than  once  Theophilus,  entering  his  li- 


OUR  AGGY.  8l 

brary,  found  her  curled  up  on  the  rug,  match  in  hand, 
sound  asleep  before  his  unlighted  fire. 

One  of  the  most  singular  traits  of  the  girl  was  her  sud 
den  fits  of  temporary  docility.  Often,  at  these  times,  I 
would  speak  to  her  of  her  good  old  father,  and  of  that 
higher  Love  which  knows  no  difference  of  hue  or  tongue. 
She  would  listen  attentively,  and  even  kneel  beside  me, 
repeating  word  for  word  some  simple  prayer  with  true 
pathos  in  her  tone,  only  to  break  away  at  last  with  a  con 
temptuous  "  Pooh  !  what  stuff !  Dis  chile  can't  stan'  sich 
truck,  missy  !  "  Or  she  would  suddenly  change  to  a  sit 
ting  posture  on  the  floor,  and  with  hands  clasped  about 
her  knees,  rock  backward  and  forward,  wagging  her  head 
between  each  chuckle,  "  Oh  !  Lorry  me,  missy,  you  kill  dis 
nig  ;  you  do.  Yah  !  yah  !  it's  wuss  den  wucken,  he  !  he  !  " 

But,  as  already  stated,  Aggy  really  did  improve  in  many 
respects.  She  soon  learned  to  scour  the  knives,  build  fires, 
and  wash  and  scrub  in  a  way  that  quite  propitiated  Ann 
and  Nora ;  though  Ellen,  my  fine  waitress,  would  not  be 
appeased.  "  Nagers  was  what  a  dacent  girl  cuddent  and 
wuddent  putt  up  wid,  nohow."  She  left,  and  I  conceived 
the  wild  idea  of  trying  Miss  Aggy  as  her  substitute. 

A  few  days'  indefatigable  drilling  did  wonders,  and,  I 
am  proud  to  say,  produced  a  profound  impression  upon 
Theophilus.  To  be  sure,  she  generally  ate  half  the  sugar 
from  the  bowl  while  setting  the  supper-table ;  and  dishes 
of  pickles  grew  strangely  less  on  their  way  from  pan 
try  to  dining-room ;  yet  she  was  generally  good-tem 
pered,  and,  when  "massa"  was  absent,  very  anxious  to 
please.  Why  he  should  have  had  such  an  influence  upon 
her  is  incomprehensible ;  but  there  is  no  denying  the  fact, 


82  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

that  a  word  or  a  look  from  him  always  either  frightened 
her  immoderately,  or  possessed  her  with  the  spirit  of  a 
hundred  imps.  Now  and  then,  especially  when  we  had 
friends  to  dinner,  mischief  reigned  supreme.  At  such 
times  interference  or  notice  only  made  matters  worse. 
The  more  important  the  guests,  or  the  greater  the  solici 
tude  of  poor  Theoph  that  no  faux  pas  should  occur,  the 
more  apt  was  her  ladyship  to  wickedly  fill  the  tumblers  so 
full  that  they  could  not  be  lifted  without  accident ;  or  to 
slyly  take  possession  of  the  knife  and  fork  of  some  embar-' 
rassed  guest ;  or  even  to  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter,  or 
cut  an  unexpected  "  pigeon-wing "  in  the  fulness  of  her 
mood.  I  shall  never  forget  the  day  that  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Barrilpreech  dined  with  us.  Just  in  the  middle  of  his 
impressive  grace,  Aggy  burst  into  the  room,  singing  at  the 
top  of  her  voice,  — 

"  I'se  boun'  fur  de  Ian'  ob  Canaan," 

and  then  apologized  with, — 

"  Gorry  !  missy,  what  yer  habbin'  bressin'  to-day  fur  ? 
Missy  Grimmons  use  ter  nab  'em  regular" 

After  this  Theophilus  became  unmanageable.  I  was 
constrained  to  hire  another  waitress,  reserving  Aggy  for 
the  "generally  useful"  department.  Here  her  principal 
labors  resolved  themselves  into  eating,  drinking,  sleeping, 
and  hiding  between  her  mattresses  every  stray  article  in 
the  house.  Odd  shoes,  pieces  of  old  suspenders,  empty 
spools,  bits  of  ribbon,  tea-spoons,  tooth-brushes,  and  even 
Theoph's  cigars,  all  were  stowed  away  with  equal  care  and 
cunning.  How  they  got  there,  Aggy  never  could  "tink." 
"Mus'  hab  bin  de  cat  or  Philly ;"  she  "didn't  know  nuffin' 
at  all  about  'em." 


OUR  AGGY.  83 

One  day  Theophilus  remarked  rather  pompously  to  a 
friend  at  dinner,  that  of  all  the  books  in  his  collection,  he 
valued  most  a  certain  rare  edition  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne. 
"  You  shall  see  it  to-day,  sir,"  he  added,  "  as  I  know  you 
will  appreciate  it."  After  dinner  my  beloved  biblioma 
niac  attempted  to  fulfil  his  promise.  The  precious  volume 
was  gone  !  Theophilus  was  in  despair.  He  had  been 
reading  the  book  that  very  morning.  At  last,  with  an 
intuition  quite  equal  to  De  Quincey's  "  electric  aptitude 
for  discovering  analogies,"  I  stole  up  to  Aggy's  room,  and 
slyly  disinterred  Sir  Thomas  from  his  tomb  between  the 
mattresses.  A  moment  afterward  my  unsuspecting  The 
ophilus  was  surprised  at  finding  it  in  his  chair,  "  just  where 
he  had  left  it." 

Still  I  repeat  and  insist  that  the  girl  steadily  improved. 

A  few  weeks  after  Aggy's  advent  circumstances  com 
pelled  me  to  commit  a  conventional  sin, —  in  other  words, 
to  tell  a  polite  lie,  —  by  announcing,  at  one  of  the  sewing- 
meetings  of  our  society,  that  I  would  be  pleased  to  see  the 
ladies  at  our  house  on  the  following  Wednesday. 

Now,  I  love  freedom.  I  idolize  soldiers.  But,  for  all 
that,  I  do  not  like  to  hold  a  sewing-society  meeting,  with 
its  scraps  and  threads,  on  our  velvet  carpets.  Yet  the 
thing  had  to  be.  Indeed,  St.  Grundy  sent  me  a  consola 
tion  by  way  of  reward.  It  would  certainly  be  a  triumph  to 
exhibit  Aggy,  in  her  advanced  state,  to  the  society.  No 
other  member  had  been  able  to  keep  her  longer  than  a 
week.  She  should  attend  the  door.  I  felt  there  could  be 
no  chance  of  accident  in  that,  while,  at  the  same  time,  the 
neat  appearance  and  improved  bearing  of  the  girl  would 
speak  for  themselves. 


84  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

Wednesday  arrived.  Concluding  that  discretion  was  the 
better  part  of  valor,  I  did  not  betray  my  anxiety  to  the 
damsel,  but  simply  directed  her  to  remain  in  the  hall,  make 
no  noise,  and  to  admit  the  visitors  respectfully. 

Every  thing  worked  charmingly.  As  I  stood  at  the  end 
of  the  long  rooms,  engaged  as  "  cutter,"  I  could  hear 
•Aggy's  pleasant  voice  saying,  "  In  de  frun'  parlor,  ladies  ; " 
and  now  and  then  a  cheery,  "  Yes,  marm,  I'se  berry  happy," 
in  answer  to  some  kind  inquiry.  She  attended  to  her 
duties  so  promptly  !  The  ladies  had  not  time  to  ring 
the  bell  before  they  were  admitted,  and  so  noiselessly  too, 
by  my  little  handmaiden.  I  was  quite  elated,  and  could 
not  forbear  indulging  in  a  few  remarks  to  those  near  me 
concerning  Aggy's  improvement,  and  the  immense  pains  I 
had  taken  to  make  her  a  good  servant. 

"Yes-s!?"  said  Mrs.  Winthrop,  replying  in  a  rapid 
scale  of  C  ;  and  I  translated  it,  "  You  have  indeed  suc 
ceeded,  my  dear  Mrs.  Brown.  How  in  the  world  did  you 
acquire  such  wisdom  and  energy  ?  " 

Our  meeting  over,  the  company  departed  almost  in  a 
body.  As  soon  as  the  last  lady  left  the  house  I  called,  in 
a  cheerful  voice,  from  the  parlor,  — 

"  Come  here,  Aggy." 

Her  sable  face  appeared  at  the  door,  grinning  with  satis 
faction. 

"  You  have  been  a  very  good  girl,  Aggy,  and  shall  have 
sponge-cake  for  your  supper." 

"  Tanky,  missy,"  was  the  honest  response ;  "  but,  bress 
yer !  dis  nigger  didn'  take  no  troubP.  I  jess  lef  de  do' 
stan'in  open,  an'  hitched  up  on  de  hall  table,  dis  way." 

She  vanished.  She  was  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 
With  a  sinking  heart,  I  hurried  into  the  hall. 


OUR  AGGY.  85 

My  young  lady  was  indeed  upon  the  table,  swinging  her 
naked  feet  therefrom  in  great  glee. 

"  Good  gracious,  child  !  "  I  cried,  seizing  her  by  the 
shoulder,  "  where  are  your  shoes  and  stockings  ?  " 

"  Gorry !  "  ejaculated  Aggy,  drawing  up  the  offending 
members  in  a  twinkling,  and  blinking  her  great  eyes  at  me 
in  terror. 

There  lay  the  cast-off  articles,  in  full  view,  midway  be 
tween  the  entrance  and  the  parlor-door. 

"  When  did  you  take  them  off  ?  "  I  gasped,  ready  to  cry 
with  mortification,  as  the  memory  of  my  rather  boastful 
words  surged  within  me. 

"  I  tuck  'em  off  'fore  de  ladies  cum,"  whined  the  girl, 
"  coz  yer  tole  me  ter  be  quiet :  can'  do  nufnn'  in  dem  yar 
shoes." 

"  Aggy,"  I  asked,  in  a  tragic  voice,  "  did  you  swing  your 
feet  in  that  outrageous  manner  while  the  ladies  were  in  the 
hall  ? " 

"  Donno,  missy,"  sobbed  Aggy,  scratching  her  head ; 
"mose  like  I  did,  coz  dey  allers  swings  nat'ral  when  I 
sits  on  any  thin'  high." 

Just  then  Theophilus  came  in,  and,  rather  than  put  him 
in  possession  of  the  facts,  I  hastily  gathered  up  the  girl's 
impedimenta,  and  allowed  her  to  depart  for  the  kitchen  with 
out  further  comment.  But  it  was  trying,  to  say  the  least  of 
it,  to  hear  her  singing  obliviously,  as  she  bounded  down  the 

stairs, — 

"  Oh  !   Pse  goin'  to  be  an  angel  — 
I'se  goin'  to  be  an  angel, 
An'  lib  in  de  big  blue  sky." 

In  the  evening  Aggy's  father  came  in.     He  was  a  noble- 
8 


r 


86  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

looking  negro,  though  evidently  worn  by  toil  and  suffering. 
His  "  Well,  gal !  "  and  the  twinkle  in  his  bright  eye  as 
Aggy  entered  the  room,  told  their  own  story  of  love  and 
long  forbearance.  For  his  sake  my  resolve  to  return  her 
to  the  society  was  abandoned  at  once.  I  shall  never  for 
get  the  glow  of  honest  pride  with  which  he  forced  upon 
me  a  small  sum  of  money,  —  his  first  savings  as  a  free 
man,  —  "  to  buy  de  chile  some  close." 

"  Ef  it's  de  same  to  you,  marm,"  was  his  dignified  reply 
to  my  remonstrance,  "  I'd  ruther  de  gal  ud  hab  it.  She 
hain't  had  no  mudder  since  she  woz  a  nussin'  chile,  an'  ole 
Cudjoe's  nebber  had  no  chance  to  hev  the  'sponsibility  uv 
her  afore.  May  de  Lor'  bress  you,  marm,  an'  de  gem'man 
too,  fur  shelterm'  uv  her  an'  larnin'  her."  He  looked  at 
Aggy  a  moment,  and  continued,  "  An'  oh !  missus,  ef  yer 
could,  ef  yer  only  could,  wid  de  Lord's  he'p,  make  her  a 
Christian,  it  ud" —  He  stopped,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  We  will  try,"  I  said,  grasping  the  old  man's  hand ; 
"  and  you,  Aggy,  I  know,  will  endeavor  to  be  a  good  girl 
for  your  father's  sake." 

"  Can't,  missy,"  sobbed  Aggy,  with  sudden  vehemence, 
as  she  plunged  her  woolly  head  in  the  old  man's  bosom, 
"  'tain't  no  use  —  I'se  'fractory  —  sojers  sed  so  —  I'se  got 
de  debbil  in  me  !  " 

At  this  point  Theophilus  walked  into  the  room  with  the 
baby  in  his  arms.  Aggy  sprang  up  in  an  instant. 

"  Dar,  missy,  dat's  it !  She  ain't  a  bit  afeard  uv  niggers 
—  she's  liked  Aggy  frum  de  furst,  'cept  Nora  sed  yer'd  es 
leaf  hev  a  monkey  han'le  her  es  me.  Ef  yer'd  on'y  let 
me  hole  an'  ten'  de  baby,  I  cud  be  a  Chrisshen  —  I  tink  I 
cud  —  dat's  a  fac." 


OUR  AGGY.  87 

And  with  these  words,  after  wiping  her  eyes  upon  her 
apron,  she  commenced  dancing  frantically  before  the  baby, 
stopping  occasionally  to  let  the  soft  dimpled  hands  clutch 
at  her  wool  while  the  little  one  crowed  and  screamed  with 
delight. 

Half  tempted  to  consent,  and  yet  dreading  a  positive 
fiat  from  Theophilus,  who  idolized  the  baby,  I  turned  the 
subject,  and  was  glad  when  the  door-bell  summoned  Aggy 
from  the  room. 

After  old  Cud  joe  left,  Theophilus  and  I  held  another 
consultation.  He  was  inexorable. 

"  What !  "  he  cried,  "let  that  crazy  imp  take  care  of  the 
baby  ?  never  !  Isn't  it  enough  to  have  the  furniture,  win 
dows,  and  crockery  broken ;  to  find  the  children's  '  hoop- 
les  '  hung  across  my  best  beaver ;  to  be  made  ridiculous 
before  my  friends  ;  and  to  have  my  youngsters  all  talking 
and  laughing  like  darkeys,  without  having  poor  little 
Pinky's  brains  dashed  out  into  the  bargain  !  I  tell  you, 
Emma,  this  notion  of  yours  is  Quixotic,  absurd,  positively 
criminal  under  the  circumstances  !  " 

Now,  when  Theophilus  forgets  himself  in  this  manner,  I 
simply  blush  for  him,  and  quietly  resolve  to  follow  my  own 
calmer  judgment.  Consequently,  Aggy  was  duly  installed 
the  next  day  as  under-nurse,  and  did  so  well,  that  before 
the  first  week  elapsed  even  Theophilus  admitted  that  mat 
ters  were  not  so  very  discouraging  after  all. 

One  bright,  icy  afternoon  —  shall  I  ever  forget  it?  — 
while  little  Philly,  at  the  prospect  of  a  bath,  was  suffering 
under  a  severe  attack  of  Psychrophobia,  the  baby,  held  in 
Aggy's  now  careful  arms,  was  gazing  through  the  window 
panes.  Suddenly,  like  Rasselas,  she  was  seized  with  an 


88  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

ardent  desire  to  visit  the  outer  world,  and,  of  course,  soon 
set  up  a  vigorous  "  dey-dey  !  dey-dey !  "  which,  being  in 
terpreted,  means,  "  I  want  somebody  to  put  on  my  street 
fixings,  and  take  me  out —  quick  !  quick  !  " 

"Do  lef  me  take  her,  missy,  jes  in  frun'  ob  de  house ; 
please  do,  missy,"  pleaded  Aggy,  pressing  the  baby  to  her 
heart  in  eager  anticipation.  "  I  keep  her  wrap  up  jess  es 
warm  es  I  kin,  an'  I  promis,"  she  continued,  rolling  her 
great  eyes  solemnly  till  they  showed  more  white  than  black, 
"  I  promis  I  wunt  go  no  furder  dan  de  house." 

"  Very  well,"  said  I,  "  I'll  trust  you,  Aggy.  Look  up  at 
the  window  every  few  moments,  and  I'll  wave  my  hand 
when  I  wish  you  to  come  in." 

We  wrapped  the  little  darling  up  warmly,  and  I  couldn't 
help  congratulating  myself  on  my  recognition  of  Aggy's 
true  sphere,  when  I  saw  how  tenderly  and  cautiously  she 
descended  the  stairs  with  her  precious  burden. 

In  a  moment  I  raised  the  window,  and  saw  Aggy  walk 
ing  demurely  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house,  her  head 
bobbing  like  a  mandarin's  in  dutiful  watchfulness  of  my 
signal.  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  run  down  to 
the  front  parlor,  where  Theophilus,  in  dressing-gown  and 
slippers,  sat  reading  the  paper,  to  show  him  how  glorious 
ly  my  system  worked.  He  looked  up  as  I  entered. 

"  Theoph,  dear,  do  come  and  see  how  carefully  Aggy 
carries  the  baby,"  said  I,  raising  the  sash  lightly. 

Aggy  was  singing  in  a  subdued  voice,  as  she  paced 
slowly  up  and  down,  — 

"  Massa  gone,  missy  too, 
Cry  !  niggers,  cry ! 
Tink  I'll  see  de  bressed  Norf 
'Fore  the  day  I  die." 


OUR  AGGY.  89 

All  would  have  been  well,  if  Theophilus  had  only  kept 
quiet;  but  the  man  was  possessed.  He  dashed  the 
blinds  open  with  a  bang,  and  called  out  sternly,  — 

"  Be  careful,  girl !  The  sidewalks  are  slippery.  Mind 
you  don't  go  a  single  step  past  the  house  !  " 

This  was  enough.  Aggy  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face, 
and  we  saw  in  a  flash  that  her  impish  spirit  was  aroused. 
Off  she  started.  Theophilus,  without  taking  time  to  get 
coat  or  hat,  rushed  to  the  door,  and  reached  the  side 
walk  just  in  time  to  see  her  dart  around  the  corner.  He 
hurried  on,  but  only  to  catch  the  gleam  of  the  baby's 
white  cloak,  as  it  disappeared  at  the  next  turn.  Another, 
and  yet  another  corner  was  gained  with  no  better  success. 
People  stared  to  see  a  hatless  man  rushing  along  at  such 
a  rate.  Crowds  gathered,  and  every  idler  in  the  street 
joined  in  the  chase,  but  to  no  avail.  The  girl  had  wings 
to  her  feet.  Theophilus  shuddered,  lest  in  her  excitement 
she  should  dash  the  baby  to  the  ground ;  but  he  dared  not 
slacken  his  pace,  because  to  lose  sight  of  her,  he  felt, 
was  to  lose  his  child  forever.  Shouts  filled  the  air  :  cries 
of  "  Stop,  thief !  "  —  "  Run,  sis  !  "  —  "  Shake  your  pins 
nimbler,  old  fellow  !  "  —  "  Hurrah  for  the  gal !  "  resounded 
on  every  side.  Meanwhile  the  rabble,  Theophilus  in 
their  midst,  pressed  on  faster  and  faster.  More  than  once 
the  fugitive  ran  almost  under  the  heads  of  passing  horses, 
causing  them  to  leap  and  prance ;  but  she  never  once 
faltered  or  staggered.  On  she  ran,  until,  turning  her 
head,  she  saw  that  her  pursuers  were  gaining  upon  her. 
Halting  an  instant,  she  laid  the  baby  on  a  pile  of  mats 
in  front  of  a  grocery,  and  flew  around  the  corner. 

No  one  followed ;  for  all  stopped  to  see  whether  what 
8* 


90  THE&PHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

she  had  cast  away  was  a  bundle  or  a  living  thing.  Not 
a  sound  escaped  it ;  and  only  when  its  panting  father 
clasped  it  to  his  bosom,  did  the  poor  frightened  birdie 
utter  a  cry.  Theophilus  told  me  afterward  that  that  cry 
was  the  sweetest  sound  he  had  ever  heard  in  his  life  ;  which 
struck  me  as  rather  a  queer  idea,  though  I  said  nothing. 

Poor  Theophilus !  His  position,  considering  his  tem 
perament,  was  certainly  not  an  enviable  one.  Standing 
in  slippers,  bareheaded,  with  a  screaming  baby  in  his 
arms,  nearly  a  mile  from  home,  and  in  a  part  of  the  city 
where  not  a  hack,  not  a  hat-store,  was  to  be  seen,  sur 
rounded  by  a  gaping  crowd,  who  deluged  him  with  ques 
tions,  and  incensed  him  with  their  jokes,  he  was  indeed 
to  be  pitied  !  Matters  were  not  much  ameliorated  either 
by  the  appearance  of  a  policeman,  who  coming  late  to  the 
rescue,  as  usual,  insisted  in  stentorian  tones  upon  knowing 
"what  all  this  meant." 

Humbled  and  grateful,  I  clasped  the  baby  in  my  arms 
that  evening,  scarcely  daring  to  look  at  Theophilus. 

We  might  never  have  heard  of  Aggy  again,  had  not  our 
little  one  been  carried  to  Madison  Park,  months  after,  by 
its  new  nurse. 

When  they  returned,  I  could  hear  baby  chattering  in 
pure  Choctaw  all  the  way  up  stairs. 

"  Why,  darling,  what  is  it  ?  "  I  asked,  meeting  her  at  the 
door,  and  almost  smothering  her  with  kisses.  "  What  did 
baby  see  in  the  park  ?  " 

"  Goo  goo,  Ag,  goo  goo,  Ag,  zoo  whoo  !  " 

"  Bless  her  heart,  ma'am,"  cried  nurse,  "  I  declare  if  she 
don't  almost  tell  you." 


OUR  AGGY.  91 

"Tell  me  what,  Betsey?" 

"  Why,  do  you  believe,  ma'am,  when  me  and  baby  was 
a-going  in  the  park,  what  should  come  bouncing  up  to  us 
but  an  ugly  little  nigger  ?  " 

"  Ag  !     Goo-ug,  gug  !  "  explained  the  baby. 

"  Yes,  you  pet :  goo  goo.  So  it  was,"  continued  Betsey, 
taking  off  its  "  things,"  and  putting  all  the  pins  into  her 
mouth  :  "  it  was  a  nassy  black  thing,  it  was." 

"  Well,  what  about  the  colored  girl  ?  "  I  asked,  becom 
ing  impatient.  "  Was  it  Aggy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  that  very  young  un  you've  been  tellin' 
me  of.  Well,  if  she  didn't  laugh  and  cry  and  dance,  and 
clap  her  hands,  till  I  thought  she'd  go  into  fits.  Then  she 
whisked  the  baby  out  of  my  arms  in  a  jiffy,  and  most 
strangled  it  with  kisses ;  and,  do  you  believe,  ma'am,  the 
more  I  tried  to  pull  baby  away  the  more  it  wouldn't  come, 
but  just  held  on  to  the  dirty  black  neck,  and  hollered. 
At  last,  when  I  got  baby  safe  in  my  arms  again,  and  it 
a-screaming  to  go  back  to  her,  I  jest  up  an'  told  the 
sassy  thing  to  go  about  her  business. 

"'Well,'  says  she,  *  I'se  gwine '  (these  niggers  talks  like 
heathen).  'Tell  missy  Aggy  lub  her  fus-rate,  on'y  I'se 
got  anudder  missy  now ; "  and  ran  off,  after  kissin'  baby 
again,  and  laughin'  and  cryin'  like  wild." 

Betsey  paused  from  sheer  exhaustion  ;  for  during  the 
narrative  she  had  been  tossing  her  charge  up  and  down, 
shaking  her  head,  and  making  herself  interesting  to  it 
generally. 

"Ran  off?  Didn't  you  call  her?  Couldn't  you  stop 
her  ? " 

"  Bless  you,  ma'am  !     There  ain't  a  person  living  could 


92  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

V  stopped  her.  Why,  she  run  faster  than  the  very  wind, 
ma'am.  I  misgive  me  she's  kind  o'  wild,  savin'  your  pres 
ence  ;  or  maybe  she's  afraid  the  master'd  have  her  took 
up,  —  as  most  any  gentleman  would  after  such  work. 
P'r'aps  "  — 

"  But  didn't  she  say  she  would  come  and  see  the  baby  ? 
Didn't  she  tell  you  where  she  is  living  ? " 

"  Not  a  word,  ma'am,"  persisted  Betsey  solemnly,  shak 
ing  her  head.  "  She  just  run  and  run,  as  if  the  very  ter 
rors  was  after  her." 

That  was  the  end  of  it.  Aggy,  who  is  no  creature  of 
fancy,  but  a  real,  living  girl,  never  again  ventured  near 
the  spot  that  held  Theophilus.  She  was  gone,  and  with 
her  my  philanthropic  scheme,  but  not  my  faith  in  her  race, 
my  hope  for  their  future. 

Often  in  the  quiet  spring  afternoons,  while  sitting  in 
the  nursery,  that  lithe  figure  seems  before  me  again ;  and 
I  almost  hear  her  quaint  snatches  of  song  ringing  through 
the  house.  When  baby  shouts  with  keener  delight  than 
usual,  the  clatter  of  those  wild  dances  once  more  rings  in 
my  ears  ;  and  often  in  the  dim  twilight,  the  old  father's 
words  come  back :  "  Ef  yer  could,  ef  yer  only  could,  wid 
de  Lord's  he'p,  make  her  a  Christian  !  " 


INSANITY  OF  CAIN. 


INSANITY  OF  CAIN. 


|HATEVER  is  startling  in  the  fact  of  questioning 
Cain's  sanity  only  goes  to  prove  the  simple  jus 
tice  of  the  doubt.  For  more  than  five  thousand 
years  humankind  has  been  content  to  look  upon  the  First 
Born  as  a  murderer.  Each  new  generation,  convicting 
him  as  it  were  without  hearing  of  judge  or  jury,  has  felt 
far  more  concern  that  the  conviction  should  be  under 
stood  as  a  so-called  religious  fact,  than  that  a  remote  and 
defenceless  fellow-creature  should  have  the  benefit  of 
human  justice.  One-tenth  of  the  zeal  and  candor  with 
which  our  own  Froude  has  endeavored  to  make  a  saint  of 
England's  chronic  widower  might  have  sufficed  to  lift  a 
world's  weight  of  obloquy  from  the  shoulders  of  Cain. 
But,  until  to-day,  no  philosopher  has  chosen  to  assume 
the  difficult  and  delicate  task.  No  jurisprudent  has 
dared  to  investigate  a  charge  that  has  been  a  sort  of 
moral  stronghold  for  ages.  So  grand  a  thing  is  it  to  be 
able  to  point  away  far  back,  deeper  and  deeper,  into  antiq 
uity,  to  the  very  First  Families,  and  say,  Behold  the  foun 
tain-head  of  our  murder-record. 

Doggerel  has  much  to  answer  for.     It  has  driven  many 

95 


g6  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

a  monstrous  wrong  into  the  heart  of  its  century.  It  has 
done  its  worst  with  Cain,  but  not  the  worst. 

C is  for  Cain, 

Who  his  brother  had  slain, 

though  winning  in  cadence,  lacks  spirit  as  a  charge.  It  is 
too  non-committal.  The  feeble  soul  that  contrived  it  was 
fit  only  for  jury-duty.  It  wants  the  snap  of  preconceived 
opinion.  But  CAIN,  THE  FIRST  MURDERER,  is  grand, 
unique,  statistical.  Hence  its  vitality  and  power.  Gene 
ration  after  generation,  taught  to  loathe  his  very  name,  has 
accepted  the  statement  on  general  principles.  There  had 
to  be  a  first  murderer ;  and  why  not  Cain  ?  Again,  why 
not  Abel  for  the  murderee  ? 

There  was  no  miasma  in  that  sweet,  fresh  time  ;  no 
scope  for  contagious  diseases.  There  were  no  pastry- 
shops,  no  distilleries,  no  patent  medicines,  no  blisters,  no 
lancets,  and  no  doctors.  Consequently,  there  was  no  way 
for  a  man  to  die  unless  somebody  killed  him.  Cain  did 
this  thing  for  Abel.  That  we  do  not  dispute  ;  nor  that  he 
did  it  gratis  and  unsolicited.  But  was  he  a  murderer? 
Setting  aside  the  possibility  that  Abel's  time  had  not 
come,  are  we  to  judge  Cain  by  the  face  of  his  deed? 
May  there  not  have  been  palliating  conditions,  tempera 
mental  causes  ?  In  a  word,  was  he  sane  ? 

For  centuries,  ages,  the  world  has  overlooked  the  tre 
mendous  considerations  involved  in  this  question,  placidly 
branding  an  unfortunate  man  with  deepest  ignominy, 
and  taking  it  for  granted  that  his  deed  was  deliberate,  — 
the  act  of  a  self-poised,  calculating,  and  guilty  mind.  Let 
us  see. 


INSANITY  OF  CAIN.  97 

In  the  first  place,  Cain,  for  a  time,  was  the  only  child 
on  earth.  That  in  itself  was  enough  to  disturb  the  strong 
est  juvenile  organism.  All  the  petting,  nursing,  trotting, 
coddling,  and  watching  of  the  whole  civilized  world  fall 
ing  upon  one  pair  of  baby  shoulders !  Naturally  the 
little  fellow  soon  considered  himself  a  person  of  conse 
quence,  —  all-absorbing  consequence,  in  fact.  Then  came 
Abel,  disturbing  and  upsetting  his  dearest  convictions. 
Another  self !  A  new  somebody !  A  kicking  counterfeit, 
held  fondly  in  his  mother's  arms,  riding  to  Banbury  Cross 
on  his  father's  foot ! 

A  Brother  ?  What  did  it  mean  ?  There  were  no  books 
to  tell  him ;  and  if  there  had  been,  the  poor  child  never 
knew  a  letter.  There  were  no  philosophers  nor  metaphysi 
cians  in  those  days  to  explain  the  phenomenon.  The 
earliest  Beecher  was  not  born ;  Darwin  was  still  a  linger 
ing  atom  in  some  undreamed  of,  unorganized  pseudo-pro 
toplasm  of  a  monkey.  The  child  had  no  friends,  not  even 
a  school-fellow.  Adam's  time  was  taken  up  with  what 
modern  conundrumists  have  called  his  express  company ; 
Eve  had  the  baby  to  mind,  and  Cain  was  left  alone  to 
brood  over  the  unfathomable.  Think  of  the  influence  thus 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  delicate,  sensitive  brain  of  that 
very  select  child.  A  mature  intellect  would  have  given 
way  under  a  far  less  strain. 

But  Cain  survived  it.  He  became  reconciled,  we  will 
say,  to  the  little  Abel.  They  played  and  shouted  together 
as  children  do  in  our  day,  racing  the  fields  at  will,  growing 
to  be  strong,  brave  little  animals,  fierce,  impulsive,  and 
aggressive  —  especially  Cain.  But  how  did  they  fare 
aesthetically  —  no  academies,  no  Sunday-schools,  no  gym- 
9 


98  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

nasiums,  nothing  to  direct  and  balance  their  young 
minds ! 

Their  parents  were  plain  people,  caring  little  for  society, 
we  imagine,  and  any  thing  but  dressy  in  their  tastes. 
There  were  no  lectures  in  those  days,  remember ;  no  con 
certs,  no  Young  Men's  Christian  Associations,  to  make  life 
one  long  festivity  —  every  thing  was  at  a  dead  level. 
Probably  the  only  excitements  Adam  and  Eve  had  were 
thrashing  the  children  and  making  them  "behave."  What 
ever  sensation  Adam  may  have  made  among  the  beasts  of 
the  field,  the  only  public  movement  possible  to  his  active- 
minded  wife  was  to  notify  all  mankind  (i.e.,  little  Cain  and 
Abel)  to  look  out,  for  Adam  was  coming!  Naturally, 
Abel,  being  the  baby,  the  last  and  therefore  the  best  and 
dearest,  was  spared  these  thrashings  and  public  excite 
ments  to  a  great  extent ;  and  so  the  burden  of  social  re 
sponsibility  fell  upon  poor  little  Cain.  Who  shall  blame 
him,  or  wonder  at  the  act,  if  now  and  then  he  indulged  in 
a  sly  kick  at  Abel,  —  Abel,  the  goody  boy  of  the  family, 
the  "rest  of  the  world,"  who  would  not  on  any  account  be 
as  naughty  and  noisy  as  brother  Cain  ? 

Yet  who  of  us  can  say  that  any  such  kick  was  admin 
istered  ?  At  that  early  stage  of  his  existence,  the  controll 
ing  mind  of  Cain  had  not  yet  given  way. 

It  is  no  light  matter  to  be  the  first  man  in  a  world  like 
this  ;  and  Cain  certainly  was  preparing  to  hold  that  posi 
tion.  Adam,  his  father,  was  created  for  a  purpose.  Like 
Minerva,  he  sprang  into  life  full  grown  ;  therefore,  though 
we  may  safely  consider  him  as  the  first  human  creature, 
he  certainly  was  not  the  first  man.  For  how  can  one  be 
a  man  who  never  was  a  child  ? 


INSANITY  OF  CAIN.  99 

Here  we  have  another  argument  in  favor  of  Cain.  Be 
sides  having  no  bad  boys  to  pattern  after,  he  was  under 
the  constant  direction  of  his  parents,  who  certainly,  if 
only  from  an  instinct  of  self-preservation,  would  have 
trained  him  never  to  be  passionate  or  cruel,  when  in  his 
right  mind.  To  be  sure,  they  labored  under  a  peculiar 
disadvantage.  Herbert  Spencer  himself,  coming  into  the 
world  booted  and  spurred,  with  no  childhood  to  look  back 
upon,  might  have  been  at  a  loss  how  to  manage  the  first 
boy.  We  must  never  forget  that  there  was  a  time  when 
instinct  and  reflex  action  had  the  start  of  the  doctrine  of 
precedent  and  law  of  consequences;  when  the  original  "I 
told  you  so  ! "  had  yet  to  be  uttered.  Even  the  warning 
example  of  Cain  was  denied  to  the  moral  advancing  of 
this  first  boy. 

Still  the  situation  had  its  advantages.  There  were  no 
fond  uncles  and  aunts,  no  doting  grand-parents,  to  spoil 
the  child,  and  confound  the  best  endeavors  of  Adam  and 
Eve.  Fortunately  for  the  boy,  Poor  Richard's  Almanac 
was  yet  unwritten ;  George  Washington's  little  hatchet 
was  never  brandished  before  his  infant  mind;  and  Cas- 
abianca  had  not  yet  struck  his  attitude  on  the  burning 
deck.  So  young  Cain  was  spared  a  host  of  discouraging 
influences.  In  short,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe,  that, 
in  spite  of  depressing  conditions  and  surroundings,  he 
grew  up  to  be  at  least  a  better  man  than  his  father,  who 
never  had  any  bringing  up  at  all.  That  he  did  not  kill 
Abel  in  his  boyhood  is  proof  enough  of  this.  There  was 
discipline  somewhere. 

And  in  the  name  of  developed  science  and  Christian 
charity,  why  not,  in  considering  subsequent  events,  make 


100  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

due  allowance  for  whatever  phrenological  excesses  the 
cranium  of  young  Cain  may  have  possessed?  An  intel 
ligent  father  of  to-day,  figuratively  speaking,  can  take  his 
child's  head  by  the  forelock.  He  can  detect  what  is  within 
it,  and  counteract  proclivities.  If  an  ominous  bump  rise 
near  his  baby's  ear,  he  is  ready  to  check  combativeness 
with  "  Mary  had  a  Little  Lamb,"  "  Children,  you  should 
never  let,"  and  other  tender  ditties.  In  a  word,  he  may 
take  observations  from  the  little  mounts  of  character  on 
his  child's  head,  and  so,  if  he  be  wise,  direct  the  young 
life  into  safe  and  pleasant  places.  But  Adam  knew  noth 
ing  of  phrenology.  Nor  have  we  great  reason  to  believe, 
that,  if  he  had  known  of  it,  he  would  have  discreetly  fol 
lowed  its  indications.  Children  are  not  always  cherubs. 
We  all  know  how  the  dearest  of  our  little  ones  sometimes 
become  so  "  aggravating  "  as  to  upset  our  highest  phil 
osophies.  Was  Adam  more  than  human  ?  Say,  rather, 
he  was  the  fountain-head  and  source  of  human  passion. 

Again,  both  children  were  the  victims  of  an  abiding  pri 
vation.  They  had  the  natural  propensities  of  childhood. 
They  had  teeth,  stomach,  appetite,  —  all  the  conditions, 
we  will  say,  of  cholera  inf antum,  —  except  the  one  thing 
for  which  they  secretly  yearned,  —  green  apples  !  These, 
of  course,  were  not  to  be  had  in  that  house.  They  were 
not  even  allowed  to  be  mentioned  in  the  family.  Not 
once  in  all  their  lonely  childhood  were  those  children 
comforted  with  apples.  Think  of  the  possibilities  of  in 
herited  appetite,  and  then  conceive  of  the  effect  of  these 
years  of  unnatural  privation  ! 

Again,  who  shall  question  that  at  times  the  deepest  and 
most  mysterious  gloom  pervaded  that  household  ?  Even 


INSANITY  OF  CAIN.  IOI 

if  Adam  and  Eve  did  not  confide  in  their  children,  their 
oldest  boy  must  have  suspected  that  something  was  wrong. 
What  was  it?  —  the  terrible  something  to  be  read,  and 
yet  not  read,  in  the  averted  faces  of  that  doomed  pair  ? 
They  evidently  had  seen  better  days.  Where?  Why? 
How  ?  What  had  become  of  some  vague  inheritance  that 
Cain  felt  was  his  by  right?  Morning,  noon,  and  night, 
misty  and  terrible  suspicions  haunted  his  young  mind. 
Night  and  noon  and  morning,  the  mystery  revolved  and 
revolved  within  him.  Was  this  conducive  to  sanity  ? 

Conceive  of  the  effect  of  the  animals  seen  in  the  chil 
dren's  daily  walks  !  There  were  no  well-ordered  mena 
gerie  specimens  then,  with  Barnum  or  Van  Amburgh  in 
the  background  as  a  foil  against  terror.  Savage  beasts 
glared  and  growled  and  roared  at  every  turn.  Whatever 
geologists  may  say  to  the  contrary,  we  must  insist  that  the 
antediluvian  animals  did  not  necessarily  antedate  Adam. 
Taking  the  mildest  possible  view  of  the  case,  the  plesio- 
saurus,  pterodactyl,  mastodon,  and  megatherium,  in  their 
native  state,  could  not  have  been  soothing  objects  of  con 
templation  to  the  infant  mind. 

Well,  the  boys  grew  up.  But  how  bleak  their  young 
manhood !  No  patent-leather  boots,  no  swallow-tails,  no 
standing-collars,  no  billiards,  no  girls  to  woo,  no  fellows  to 
flout !  Nothing  to  do  when  the  farm-work  was  over,  and 
the  sheep  in  for  the  night,  but  to  look  into  each  other's 
untrimmed  faces  with  a  mute  "  Confounded  dull !  "  more 
terrible  than  raving. 

Fathers  of  to-day,  would  your  own  children  pass  un 
scathed  through  such  an  existence  as  this  ?  Your  little 
Abels  might  stand  it,  but  how  about  your  little  Cains? 

9* 


102  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

Would  they  not  "put  a  head"  on  somebody?  Would 
they  not  become,  if  not  stark,  staring  mad,  at  least  non 
compos  mentis  ?  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  these  considera 
tions  are  not  to  be  lightly  passed  by. 

In  judging  of  Cain,  look  at  the  situation.  On  the  one 
hand,  a  terrible  family  mystery,  no  schools,  no  churches, 
no  lectures,  no  society,  no  amusements,  no  apples !  On 
the  other  hand,  the  whole  burden  of  humanity  borne  for 
the  first  time ;  paternal  discipline ;  undue  phrenological 
developments  ;  monotonous  employment  ;  antediluvian 
monsters ;  antediluvian  parents,  and  an  antediluvian  good 
brother,  in  whose  mouth  butter  would  have  remained  intact 
for  ages. 

Undoubtedly  that  brother  had  an  exasperating  smile. 
He  was  happy  because  he  was  virtuous.  He  had  a  way 
of  forgiving  and  forgetting  that  for  a  time  would  deprive 
the  offender  of  reason  itself ;  above  all,  he  had  a  cool,  col 
lected  manner  of  his  own,  added  to  a  chronic  desire  to  be 
an  angel.  His  offerings  always  fulfilled  the  conditions. 
His  fires  needed  only  to  be  lighted,  and  the  smoke  was 
sure  to  ascend  with  a  satisfied,  confident  curl  far  into  the 
sky. 

Cain's,  on  the  contrary,  refused  to  burn.  We  can  see 
it  all.  The  smoke  struggled  and  flopped.  It  crept  along 
the  ground,  and,  clinging  to  his  feet,  wound  about  him  like 
a  serpent.  It  grew  black  and  angry,  shot  sideways  into 
his  eyes,  blinding  and  strangling  him  — 

And  there  stood  Abel  beside  his  pile,  radiant,  satisfied, 
wanting  to  be  an  angel ! 

It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment.  The  pent-up,  dis 
organizing  influences  of  a  life-time  found  vent  in  one  wild 
moment  of  emotional  insanity.  Abel  was  no  more  ! 


INSANITY  OF  CAIN.  103 

Why  dwell  upon  the  tragedy  ?  The  world  is  familiar 
with  its  sickening  details.  We  shall  not  repeat  them  here, 
nor  shall  we  question  the  justice  of  the  punishment  that 
came  to  Cain,  —  the  remorse,  the  desolation,  the  sense  of 
being  a  fugitive  and  a  vagabond  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
He  had  killed  his  brother,  and  the  penalty  must  be  paid. 
Sane  or  insane,  a  terrible  retribution  must  have  overtaken 
him.  But  how  about  his  guilt  ?  Would  it  have  been  the 
same  in  either  case  ?  Are  hereditary  organism,  tempera 
mental  excitability,  emotional  phrensy,  to  be  disregarded  ? 
No !  a  thousand  times  NO  !  What  "  competent  juror " 
would  acquiesce  in  such  a  proposition  ? 

"  Am  I  my  brother's  keeper  ?  "  cried  the  poor  wretch, 
when  called  upon  to  name  the  whereabouts  of  the  missing 
Abel.  Who  can  doubt  here  that  Cain,  like  any  lunatic  of 
our  own  time,  believed  himself  alone  to  be  sane,  and  those 
about  him  stark  mad  ?  His  use  of  the  word  "  keeper " 
proves  this.  True,  there  were  no  lunatic  asylums  in  that 
day ;  but  if  the  first  original  representative  "  inmate " 
was  at  large,  where  should  or  could  the  first  representative 
keeper  be  but  in  that  inmate's  diseased  imagination  ? 

Friends,  the  time  has  come  when  this  case  must  be  taken 
up.  Its  mighty  issues  can  no  longer  be  set  aside.  If  Cain 
was  not  sane  at  the  moment  of  killing,  the  stain  of  murder 
must  be  wiped  from  his  brow  now  and  forever.  This 
tardy  justice  may  at  least  be  done  him.  Our  children  and 
our  children's  children  must  be  taught  to  speak  of  Cain 
the  man-slaughterer ;  Cain  the  mentally  excitable ;  Cain 
the  peculiarly  circumstanced ;  but  Cain  the  murderer  ? 
Never ! 

A  man's  own  testimony  shall  neither  convict  nor  acquit 


104  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

him.  But  are  we  not  to  take  into  account,  as  indicative 
of  his  state  of  mind,  actions  and  declarations  coincident 
with  the  commission  of  the  crime  alleged  against  him  ?  If, 
at  or  about  the  time  of  the  fatal  deed,  there  was  positive 
evidence  of  incoherence,  what  then?  Witness  the  last 
recorded  words  of  Cain  :  — 


Is  this  the  utterance  of  a  sane  mind  ?  "  Every  one  that 
findeth  me,  shall  slay  me  ? "  Gentleman,  Cain  at  this 
point  was  not  only  crazy — he  was  the  craziest  man  that 
ever  existed  !  No  ordinary  lunatic,  however  preposterous 
his  terrors,  expects  to  be  killed  more  than  once.  But  to 
this  poor  madman  retribution  suddenly  assumed  a  hydra- 
headed  form.  His  distracted  brain,  unconscious  that 
Adam  was  the  only  other  man  in  the  wide  world,  instantly 
created  an  immense  population.  He  saw  himself  falling 
again  and  again  by  the  strokes  of  successive  assassins, 
even  as  Abel  had  fallen  under  his  hand.  His  first  dazed 
glimpse  of  death  expanded  and  intensified  into  a  horror 
never  since  conceived  by  mind  of  man.  His  happiness 
overthrown  ;  his  reason  a  wreck ;  a  prey  to  fears  that 
stretched  before  him  forever,  with  no  possible  hope  of 
final  destruction,  —  the  only  consolation  is,  that  he  could 
not  know  the  merciless  verdict  of  posterity.  He  did  not 
recognize  in  himself  The  First  Murderer.  Rather  than 
dream  of  such  ignominy  as  this,  was  it  not  better  that  he 
should  cry  in  his  ravings,  "  Every  one  that  findeth  me 
shall  slay  me  !  " 

We  leave  the  question  to  the  intelligence  and  the  justice 
of  this  faithful  and  enlightened  century. 


SHODDY. 


SHODDY. 


"  Show  me  the  fortunate  man,  and  the  gods  I  forget  in  a  moment."  —  SCHILLER. 


on  this  broad  earth  can  always  be 
found  fit  prototypes  of  the  most  wildly-conceived 
heroes  and  heroines  of  the  fairy-tales.  There  are 
little  Jacks  in  our  day,  subduing  giants  quite  as  formidable 
as  those  of  the  time  of  the  great  Blunderbore.  The  genii 
steam  and  electricity  are  offering  seven-league  boots  and 
listening-caps  to  old  and  young  ;  and  bean-stalk  ladders 
•are  springing  up  at  the  feet  of  the  restless  Jacks  whom 
fortune  favors.  The  age  has  its  drowsy  Gullivers  and  its 
wide-awake  Lilliputians  ;  its  Sindbads,  big  with  adventure  ; 
and  its  "army  of  faithful  believers,"  tilting  at  every  thing. 
There  are  still  Pussies-in-Boots,  faithfully  serving  my  lord 
the  Marquis  of  Carabas;  daughters  spinning  weary  threads 
from  distaffs  never  growing  less  ;  social  harps  which  at 
last  cry  "  Master  !  "  and  waken  terrible  ogres,  and  inquisi 
tive  wives  vainly  trying  to  re-polish  the  tell-tale  key.  We 
have  Blue  Beards,  with  sheathed  cimeters,  grimly  extend 
ing  their  matrimonial  relations  ;  and  sister  Annies  ever 
watchful  of  another's  needs.  There  are  Sleeping  Beauties, 

107 


108  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

alas !  by  the  thousand ;  and  fair  ones  with  golden  locks 
for  whom  princes  and  poets  struggle.  There  are  beasts, 
too,  whom  we  learn  to  love,  after  we  have  entered  their 
rose-lit  sanctuaries ;  and  monsters  who  have  sung,  — 

"  Fee  1  fo  !  fum ! 
I  smell  the  blood  of  an  Englishman  I  " 

There  are  Strong-backs  who  bear  the  world's  burdens, 
and  Hop-o'-my-Thumbs  who  contrive  to  slip  its  responsi 
bilities  ;  maidens,  whose  tongues  shed  dangerous  vipers, 
and  maidens  whose  words  are  a  shower  of  roses  and 
pearls.  Proud  sisters  are  every  day  being  humbled,  and 
patient  Cinderellas  dropping  the  slipper  that  shall  win 
them  the  prince.  Foolish  old  couples  are  wasting  their 
"  wishes  "  on  black-pudding ;  and  wise  younger  ones  are 
finding  the  "  treasure  of  life  "  in  each  other.  There  are 
saintly,  ministering  Red  Riding-hoods,  and,  Heaven  save 
the  mark !  grandams,  with  very  big  eyes  and  ears,  eager 
to  devour  them.  Men  and  women  are  still  sighing  for 
the  waters  of  perpetual  youth;  and  duenna-dragons  are 
guarding  enchanted  and  enchanting  maidens.  There  are 
Ali  Babas  and  envious  Cassims ;  sham  oil-merchants  and 
avenging  Morgianas ;  wicked  but  lucky  peddlers  and 
tailors,  like  those  in  the  tales  of  the  brothers  Grimm; 
and  Aladdins  with  very  wonderful  lamps  indeed ! 

And  here,  after  drifting  down  the  stream  of  fairy  lore, 
we  cast  anchor ;  for  it  is  with  these  peddlers  and  tailors  and 
Aladdins  that  we  have  to  deal.  In  short,  at  the  risk  of 
mixing  the  metaphor,  I  propose  to  "  strike  oil,"  the  oil  that 
fills  the  Aladdin-lamps  of  our  own  matter-of-fact  day,  when 


SHODDY.  109 

men  cry  Cui  bono  ?  to  every  thing,  and  expect  title-deeds  to 
castles  in  the  air.1 

The  discerning  reader  need  not  be  told  the  name  of 
this  oil ;  nor  that  the  tailors  and  peddlers  alluded  to,  with 
their  fleet-winged  geese  and  magic  packs,  are  the  so-called 
Shoddy  contractors  of  the  land  of  Stars  and  Stripes. 

Verily,  it  is  true.  In  this  fair  land,  the  wildest  tales  of 
fairy  chroniclers  are  rivalled  by  every-day  experience. 
What  are  the  exploits  of  Ali  Baba  compared  with  the  dis 
coveries  of  those  who  first  said  "  Open  Sesame  "  to  the 
caves  of  Cali  Fornia  ?  And  what  was  good  Mrs.  Cassim's 
zeal  compared  with  that  of  the  indefatigable  Want-to-get- 
rich  of  modern  days  ?  Then,  when  the  caves  were  opened, 
how  everybody  rushed  in,  some  coming  out  richly-laden, 
and  some  finding  themselves  (metaphorically)  drawn  and 
quartered,  like  poor  Cassim  !  But  why  tell  an  old  story  ? 
There  is  newer  material  for  fairy  work  than  this.  There 
are  these  tailors  and  peddlers  and  Aladdins,  at  whom  all 
America  is  just  now  gazing  with  distended  eyes,  wonder 
ing  at  the  new  palaces  flashing  into  existence,  at  the 
streams  of  wealth  flowing  into  startled  pockets,  at  the 
presto-touch  changing  ragged  clowns  into  dazzling  "gents," 
and,  above  all,  at  the  fearful  spell  being  cast  upon 
American  life  by  these  strange  creatures,  lifted,  as  it  were, 
by  enchantment,  into  sudden  wealth  and  importance. 

We  shall  consider  the  peddlers  and  tailofs,  i.e.  the  shoddy 
contractors,  first.  "  Shoddy,"  according  to  one  Simmonds, 

1  This  paper  originally  appeared  in  the  London  Cornhill  Magazine,  about 
a  dozen  years  ago.  It  is  given  a  place  in  this  volume  because  it  records  a 
state  of  things  that  in  some  respects  has  passed  away,  and  become  part  of 
the  social  history  of  the  Republic. 


1 10  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

—  whom  both  Worcester  and  Webster  use  as  a  cat's-paw 
in  handling  the  ugly  dissyllable,  —  is  "a  fibrous  material 
obtained  by  *  devilling '  refuse  woollen  goods,  old  stock 
ings,  rags,  &c.  It  differs  from  '  mungo,' "  he  says,  "  in 
being  of  an  inferior  quality,  and  is  spun  into  yarn  with  a 
little  fresh  wool,  and  made  into  coarse  cloth,  drugget, 
padding,  and  other  articles." 

So  say  the  lexicographers.  But,  in  this  fast  age,  yester 
day's  dictionary  is  almost  as  much  out  of  date  as  yesterday's 
newspaper.  In  the  world's  great  book  of  synonyms  we 
find  that  shoddy  has  been  given  a  far  wider  signification. 
If  Liszt,  in  his  "Life  of  Chopin,"  can  devote  pages  to 
the  explanation  of  the  Polish  word  zal,  we  should  require 
volumes  fairly  to  describe  the  American  word  "  shoddy." 
It  means  pretence,  vulgarity,  assumption,  the  depth  of 
folly,  and  the  highest  height  of  the  ridiculous ;  also  gilded 
ignorance,  mock-patriotism,  wire-pulling,  successful  knav 
ery,  swindling,  nay,  treason  itself.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
implies  innocent  good  luck,  reward  of  merit,  and  the 
miraculous  and  sudden  appearance  (in  the  newly-rich  man) 
of  super-intelligence  and  all  the  cardinal  virtues.  It 
means  vast  expectations  in  hovels,  and  discomfort  in  pal 
aces  ;  hippoo-birds,  wretched  with  real  golden  crowns,  the 
secret  envy  of  hippoos  with  the  comfortable  yellow  crest 
common  to  hippoodom.  It  means  bare  penury  in  the 
father,  and  gorgeous  affluence  in  the  son.  It  will  mean 
ignorant  dismay  in  the  son  at  the  scornful  superiority  of 
the  grandson,  and  grandsons  who  will  feebly  ignore  the 
name  and  character  of  the  founder  of  their  illustrious 
house. 

And  this  word,  with  its  varied  meanings  and  strong  sig- 


SHODDY.  Ill 

nificance,  has  been  raised  to  its  present  altitude  by  no  less 
a  lever  than  the  great  American  Rebellion. 

Now,  a  great  rebellion  calls  for  two  things,  —  men  to 
carry  it  on,  and  men  to  resist  it ;  and  these,  whatever  may 
be  their  several  patriotic  aspirations,  their  valor,  and  en 
thusiasm,  must  be  fed,  clothed,  and  equipped.  Their 
respective  governments,  having  no  time  to  lose,  stand  on 
the  "  outer  wall  "  of  circumstance,  and  call  loudly  for  the 
vendors  of  food,  clothing,  and  ammunition  to  draw  near. 
Honest  industry  hears  the  call,  and  prepares  to  answer  it 
as  far  as  conscience  and  means  will  allow.  Meantime 
enterprise,  whether  honest  or  not,  pricks  up  its  ears,  — 
"  Hallo  !  here's  luck  !  country  in  trouble  —  wants  some 
thing  in  a  hurry — no  time  to  examine  —  little  down-hearted, 
I  see  —  no  harm  in  cheating  the  government."  And  the 
consequence  is,  a  contract  made  so  advantageously  to  the 
Treasury  Department,  that  honest  merit  sighs,  "I  can't 
afford  to  go  in,"  and  settles  down  to  the  old  routine. 

The  fortunate  contractor  at  once  buys  up  all  the  floating 
"  poor  stuff  "  at  home  and  abroad  ;  and  his  minions,  with 
their  sub-contracts,  fatten  themselves  like  vampires  on  the 
poor  sewing-women  of  the  land.  Then  come  immense 
supplies  of  army-clothing,  —  flannel  under-shirts,  made  of 
"  human  creatures'  lives,"  and  blankets  and  uniforms  of 
veritable  "  shoddy."  The  armies  march  forth  in  gallant 
array.  Soon  follow  innumerable  catastrophes  like  that 
described  by  an  observing  troubadour  of  1861 :  — 

"  '  March  ! '  said  the  colonel.     '  Forward,  march  !  ' 

Crack  went  the  seams  in  halves ! 
A  hundred  steps,  a  hundred  men 
Showed  just  two  hundred  calves  1  " 


112  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

Notwithstanding  this  sad  event,  confiding  officials  still 
trust  to  the  shoddy  garments.  They  fade  and  rip,  and 
burst  apart,  and  drop  to  pieces,  but  the  contractor  feels 
secure.  His  fortune  is  made,  let  the  soldiers  shiver  and 
curse  as  they  may.  What  are  a  few  thousand  poorly-clad 
men  to  him  ?  He  is  comfortable,  in  his  marble  halls. 

Then  come  the  peddlers  with  their  packs,  every  thing  by 
this  time  valued  at  an  exorbitant  rate ;  for  must  not  the 
army  be  fed  and  equipped  ?  With  lying  tongues  and  exult 
ant  hearts  they  present  their  wares.  The  inspectors  are  in 
a  hurry ;  in  fact,  their  eyes  are  dim  with  war-smoke. 
Every  thing  is  "passed,"  —  leaky  tents,  glued  shoes, 
mouldy  oats,  hickory  beef,  rusty  pork,  poor  muskets,  and 
worse  ammunition.  Broken-down  horses  and  donkeys  are 
transmuted  (on  paper)  into  war-steeds  and  mules  ;  and 
leaky,  unseaworthy  tugs,  ycleped  "  vessels  "  by  Shoddy, 
are  sold  at  fabulous  prices  for  the  pursuit  of  nimble  priva 
teers,  and  the  safe  transportation  of  the  country's  defend 
ers.  The  treasury  grows  lean  ;  but,  like  Mynheer  Von 
Dunderland,  the  peddler-contractors  grow  fat.  They  count 
their  gains  in  hundreds  and  thousands  and  millions  ;  they 
thrive  and  feast  and  are  merry,  while  their  victims,  they 
who  feel  the  real  weight  of  their  iniquity,  are  cheated  of 
their  soldier-death,  and  must  fall  in  swarms,  from  the 
effects  of  insufficient  shelter,  bad  food,  and  positive 
poison. 

Of  course  there  are  marked  exceptions  to  these  contracts 
and  contractors  ;  but  that  they  are  exceptions,  and  not  the 
rule,  seems  to  be  generally  admitted. 

When  a  great  nation,  overgrown  with  the  mosses  of 
peace,  is  stirred  and  shaken  like  a  huge  rock  on  the  way- 


SHODDY.  113 

side,  we  all  know  what  squirming,  slimy  things  run  forth 
helter-skelter  ;  how  they  wriggle  and  reach  and  burrow ; 
how  nimble  and  eager  and  greedy  they  are,  and  how  they 
fatten  on  the  disturbed  debris.  But  when  the  sunshine 
peers  in  among  them,  and  freshening  winds  play  about  the 
old  foundation,  these  slimy  things  soon  disappear  amid 
the  chirp  and  hum  of  a  better  activity.  This  sunny-breeze 
state  of  things  is  now  prevailing  at  the  North  ;  but  there 
are  crowded  graves  east  and  west,  —  in  the  Shenandoah 
Valley,  on  the  green  banks  of  the  Potomac,  and  the  sunny 
slopes  of  Virginia,  —  on  which  the  Shoddy  contractors 
dare  not  look  ;  and  homes,  the  very  atmosphere  of  which 
should  stifle  them. 

If  there  are  Shoddy  sinners,  there  are  also  Shoddy 
saints  ;  men  who,  having  committed  no  wrong,  find  them 
selves  suddenly  very  "  well  off  ;  "  contractors,  too,  some 
of  them,  who  fulfil  their  part  like  good  Christians,  and, 
strange  to  say,  make  money  by  that  same.  A  certain 
class  of  lucky  inventors,  inspired  speculators,  sudden-rise- 
of-property  men,  and  men  who  have  "  struck  oil,"  or  gam 
bled  successfully  in  stocks,  make  up  the  rest  of  the  ranks 
of  Shoddy  ;  and  strange,  motley  ranks  they  are,  swelled  by 
the  consequences  and  requirements  of  the  civil  war  into 
a  formidable  body  indeed. 

Shoddy  has  its  shibboleth,  but  it  is  difficult  to  detect  it 
amid  the  din  of  the  times.  It  is  en  mascarade,  and  there 
fore  not  always  easily  recognized.  It  has  changes  of 
surface  like  the  chameleon,  and  stages  of  development 
rivalling  the  wonders  of  the  polliwig.  It  can  darken  the 
very  air  around,  and  yet,  like  Peter  Schlemihl,  it  has  far 
more  "  substance  "  than  shadow.  Full  of  mysteries  and 
contradictions,  how  shall  we  detect  it  ? 


114  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

Shoddy  minces  its  words  with  anxious  affectation ; 
Shoddy  pours  forth  slang  with  a  recklessness  unparalleled  ; 
Shoddy  carelessly  jingles  its  wealth,  and  invites  mankind 
to  come  and  see  ;  Shoddy  clutches  its  gains  with  the  sleep 
less  vigilance  of  the  miser.  Villanous  Shoddy  rises  to  a 
foam  of  sparkling  benevolence  ;  virtuous  Shoddy,  like  the 
rat  in  the  fable,  preaches  industry  to  the  starving  from  a 
pulpit  of  cheese.  Shoddy  sinners  doze  in  the  best  pews 
on  Sunday ;  Shoddy  saints  stay  at  home,  paralyzed  by 
their  sudden  good  fortune  ;  Shoddy  merchants  stand  well 
"  on  the  street ;  "  and  Shoddy  merchants  dodge  the  sheriff 
round  the  corner.  In  fact,  there  is  scarcely  a  form  of 
human  antithesis  in  which  this  same  Shoddy  does  not  shine 
supreme  ;  and  we  in  turn  bemoan  it,  laugh  at  it,  despise 
it,  envy  it,  insult  it,  and  flatter  it.  We  warn  our  children 
against  its  example,  and  sedulously  emulate  its  display  in 
our  own  humble  manner.  We  cry,  "  Lord  be  merciful  unto 
these  miserable  sinners! "  even  while  we  long  to  be  able,  in 
some  mysterious  and  consecrated  way,  to  go  and  do  like 
wise.  We  sneer  at  Mrs.  O'Flaggerty's  huge  diamond, 
and  conceive  an  intense  dissatisfaction  concerning  the 
"mean  little  stone  "  that  once  had  power  to  gladden  bur 
hearts.  In  fact,  I  am  afraid,  if  Shoddy  be  absurd,  we  are 
foolish ;  if  Shoddy  be  sinful,  we  are  without  charity :  but 
let  that  pass  ;  what  we  have  to  deal  with  now,  is  the  ser 
pent  itself,  not  the  community  that,  "  charmed "  and 
scotching  by  turns,  is  in  danger  of  writhing  within  its 
folds. 

Nothing  could  be  a  greater  mistake  than  to  consider 
Shoddy  as  an  invariable  synonym  for  newly  acquired 
riches.  Men  are  frequently  to  be  found  who  cast  no 


SHODDY.  115 

reproach  on  sudden  prosperity,  but  rather  exalt  good  for 
tune  by  accepting  it.  These  can  hardly  be  called  Shoddy, 
though  their  entire  wealth  come  in  a  day.  Neither,  of 
course,  can  those  be  so  classed  who,  by  inheritance,  fall 
from  the  bare  limb  of  "good  family"  into  the  warm  nest 
of  plenty ;  nor  those  whose  honest  gains,  long  withheld, 
are  unexpectedly  rendered  to  them  en  masse.  The  lines 
are  wiredrawn,  and  yet  the  practical  distinction  to  a  close 
observer  is  as  broad  as  day. 

When  you  see,  as  I  have  seen,  a  coarse-visaged,  angular 
woman,  dressed  —  or  rather  covered  —  in  the  very  extreme 
of  the  mode,  weighted  with  velvet,  silk,  and  sparkling 
jewels,  and  hear  her  exclaim,  "  Lor !  expense  ain't  no 
manner  of  consequence  to  us  ? "  you  will  undoubtedly 
detect  a  taint  of  Shoddy  in  the  air.  When  you  hear  an 
"  honored  citizen  "  boasting,  in  bad  English,  of  his  well- 
known  wealth  and  general  can't-be-beativeness,  you  will 
know  that  Shoddy  is  not  far  away.  When  you  enter  a 
magnificent  mansion,  redolent  of  newness  and  fashion, 
and  search  in  vain,  amid  the  gorgeous  upholstery,  showy 
frescoes,  and  mongrel  adornment,  for  the  trailing  home- 
flowers  of  elegance  and  repose,  be  sure  that  "  Shoddy"  is 
written  on  the  wall. 

Sometimes  a  mere  glance,  or  tone,  or  footfall,  will 
betray  the  presence  of  Shoddy ;  or  a  comment  on  life, 
science,  art,  music,  or  literature,  will  proclaim  it  as  from 
the  house-top,  though  you  may  have  passed  its  legions, 
unaware,  in  the  street.  In  brief,  to  really  comprehend 
Shoddy,  you  must  see  its  home,  hear  its  conversation,  and 
observe  its  actions,  note  its  tastes  and  desires  and  aspira 
tions.  Then,  and  not  until  then,  you  can  say,  "  This  is 


Il6  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

Shoddy,"  —  "This  is  not  Shoddy,"  with  the  force  of  a 
Delphic  decision. 

Meantime,  this  deponent,  having  valiantly  penetrated  its 
recesses,  can  offer  certain  personal  testimony  which  may  be 
of  interest.  No  matter  how  or  why  these  glimpses  were 
obtained.  Enough  to  say  "I  have  been  there  to  see." 

Never  shall  I  forget  my  first  entree  into  those  hallowed 
precincts.  We  were  a  party  of  four,  two  ladies  and  two 
gentlemen,  who,  in  consequence  of  having  received  a  gold- 
lettered  invitation  to  Mrs.  G 's  grand  reception,  had, 

on  the  appointed  evening,  proceeded  in  state  to  her  showy 
residence  on  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York,  —  an  avenue,  by 
the  way,  believed  by  "  the  Shoddy "  to  lead  to  heaven 
direct. 

Our  "  dressing-room "  experiences  were  peculiar,  and 
suggestive  of  strange  scenes  to  follow;  but  being,  as  we 
believed,  well  endowed  with  the  repose  of  the  Vere  de 
Veres,  we  descended  toward  the  scene  of  action  with  a 
tranquil  consciousness  of  being  in  every  way  equal  to  the 
occasion.  At  the  very  foot  of  the  stairway  we  were 
accosted  by  no  less  personages  than  the  hostess  herself, 
and  her  grown-up  daughter.  The  latter  looked  pale 
and  anxious ;  but  the  mother,  gorgeous  in  an  intensely 
blue  silk,  and  a  huge  coronet  of  pink  and  purple  artificial 
flowers,  evidently  felt  no  misgivings.  Both  stared  at  us 
unconditionally.  Suddenly  a  light  illumined  the  counte 
nance  of  the  elder  lady,  as  she  broke  forth  in  a  loud, 
emphatic  tone,  — 

"  Wellt  I  declare  !  Mrs.  D.  and  Mr.  E. !  How  do  you 
do?  And  Miss  E. !  glad  to  see  you,  I'm  sure;  but  the 
lights  and  every  thing  dazzles  me  so,  I  don't  hardly  know 


SHODDY.  II/ 

people.  Miry,  my  dear,  this  is  Mr.  E.  and  Mrs.  D.,  both 
kind  friends  of  your  pa,  and  Mr.  E.'s  daughter."  (Aside 
to  me.)  "  Who  did  you  say  the  other  gentleman  was  ? 
Oh,  yes!  Mr.  Stevens.  Glad  to  see  you,  sir,  you  may 
depend.  Young  gentlemen  are  so  scarce.  Couldn't  hardly 
get  up  the  party  for  it.  The  war,  you  see,  takes  the  best 
of  'em  off.  Oh,  excuse  me;  ha,  ha!  I  didn't  mean  no 
offence !  But  every  young  gentleman  at  a  party  counts 
one;  don't  they,  Miry?" 

"  Lor',  ma ! "  simpered  Miss  G.,  blushing  violently. 
Here  Mr.  Stevens,  always  superbly  master  of  himself, 
gracefully  hastened  to  the  rescue,  and  in  a  moment  Myra 
was  laughing  the  girlish  laugh  which,  thank  Heaven ! 
even  Shoddy  cannot  make  unmusical. 

"  Dear  me  ! "  sighed  the  matron  pathetically,  without 
offering  to  allow  us  to  pass  into  the  drawing-room. 
"  They've  been  pouring  in  thick  as  sirup  all  the  evening ! 
I'm  so  exhausted  I  can't  hardly  stand  up." 

Then  followed  a  painful  silence.  Through  the  arched 
rosewood  doorway  we  could  see  the  gayly-dressed  throng 
within,  —  a  sea  of  blue,  pink,  and  white,  in  which  frantic 
creatures  in  black  broadcloth  and  white  neckties  seemed 
to  be  insanely  bobbing  and  whirling.  Suddenly  the  music 
ceased.  The  waves,  crested  with  gauze  and  gossamer, 
heaved  violently  for  a  moment,  then  parted  like  another  Red 
Sea,  and  an  army  of  Israelites,  bearing  silver  trays  laden 
with  ices,  passed  safely  through  the  temporary  opening. 

"  Gracious !  "  exclaimed  the  hostess  at  last,  with  an 
apologetic  start,  "I  ought  to  take  you  in.  Miry,"  she 
added,  nodding  her  head  sidewise  towards  us  as  she  spoke, 
"you  must  introduce  them." 


Il8  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

"  O  mother  !  "  was  the  sotto-voce  reply,  "  I  can't  do  it : 
I  feel  too  used  up." 

"  Yes,  you  must,"  —  very  austerely,  —  "7  sha'n't  do  it." 

Instinctively  our  devoted  band,  feeling  that  this  "  intro 
duction  "  was  inevitable,  glanced  at  each  other  to  ascer 
tain  whether  any  especial  peculiarity  rendered  us  unpre 
sentable  ;  but  we  were  faultless. 

Myra  pouted,  and  looked  toward  the  animated  sea 
aforesaid,  as  if  contemplating  a  suicidal  plunge. 

"Myra  Jane  I"  pursued  the  now  irate  mother,  "do  as  I 
tell  you,  miss,  and  stop  putting  on  airs  !  " 

The  refractory  daughter  was  conquered.  "  Well,  moth 
er,"  she  replied  in  a  stage  whisper,  "  I'll  do  it  altogether, 
but  I  can't  introduce  'em  separate" 

Thus  encouraged,  we  humbly  followed  the  young  lady  ; 
and,  after  being  presented  in  a  most  novel  and  remarkable 
manner  to  the  staring  mermaids  and  mermen,  we  found 
ourselves  slowly  drifting  toward  an  anchorage  in  the  glit 
tering  saloon. 

Young  faces  were  there,  radiant  with  intense  enjoy 
ment;  older  faces,  with  a  startled,  puzzled  look  upon 
them,  as  though  the  unaccustomed  scene  wrought  more 
anxiety  than  pleasure ;  hard  faces,  varnished  with  a  mastic 
smile  ;  soft,  uninterpretable  faces,  which  were  either  saintly 
or  horribly  vicious ;  and  faces  without  any  expression  at 
all. 

Meantime  the  violins,  being  "under  treatment,"  were 
relieving  themselves  by  sundry  melancholy  squeaks. 
Groups  of  gentlemen,  who  seemed  to  have  been  recently 
presented  with  their  hands  and  feet,  were  making  desper 
ate  efforts  to  appear  at  ease.  Neglected  dames  were  sub- 


SHODDY.  119 

lime  in  a  wretched  nonchalance.  Portly  individuals  in 
watch-chains  were  glancing  uneasily  at  matrons,  whose 
coiffures  rivalled  the  Hanging  Gardens  of  Babylon ;  and 
youths  and  maidens,  all  apparently  more  or  less  afflicted 
with  the  dance  of  St.  Vitus,  were  chatting  merrily  together. 
Of  these  I  cannot  say  that,  — 

"  Their  voices,  low  with  fashion, 
Not  with  feeling,  softly  freighted 
All  the  air  about  the  windows 
With  elastic  laughters  sweet." 

In  truth,  —  "and  pity  'tis,  'tis  true,"  —  shrill  tones,  posi 
tive  guffaws,  and  giggling  responses,  rather  predominated 
over  the  murmurs  suggestive  of  a  pleasant  evening  at  the 
Lady  Geraldine's ;  and  when  the  music  floated  forth  once 
more,  there  was  a  rush,  among  the  dancers,  for  "  places," 
that  would  have  been  quite  impossible  in  the  days,  — 

"  When  persons  of  fashion  and  taste, 

In  dresses  as  stout  as  chain  armor  of  old, 
The  parties  of  Ranelagh  graced. " 

Shall  I  describe  the  dancing  or  the  dresses  ?  No  !  It  is 
enough  to  say  of  the  former  that  I  have  seen  nothing 
precisely  like  it  elsewhere ;  nor  can  my  imagination  find 
its  prototype  in  the  revel  of  bacchante,  faun,  or  fairy.  It 
was  not  wholly  ungraceful,  nor  at  all  unconventional.  It 
was  just  Shoddy,  simple,  uncompromising  Shoddy,  as  for 
eign  in  its  fulness  to  the  New  York  of  a  few  years  before  as 
the  dance  of  Eastern  Houri  or  South  Sea  Islander.  Of 
the  dresses  there  might  be  much  to  say,  were  this  a  fash 
ion  article,  or  a  low-tariff  essay  bearing  upon  foreign 


120  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

importations.  As  it  is  neither,  I  will  simply  affirm,  that, 
with  but  a  few  exceptions,  bad  taste  and  money  seemed  to 
have  vied  with  each  other  as  to  whose  power  should 
predominate. 

We  had  quite  lost  sight  of  our  amiable  hostess,  and 
were  contemplating  a  dignified  retreat  to  the  dressing- 
rooms  above,  when  we  saw  that  lady  bearing  toward  us 
under  full  sail.  There  were  costly  laces  floating  about 
her  expansive  shoulders,  and  glittering  bracelets  upon  her 
roseate  arms  :  still  there  was  something  so  grotesque  in 
her  manner  and  appearance,  that  we  were  forced  to  risk 
the  Scylla  of  an  alarming  gravity,  in  order  not  to  fall  into 
the  Charybdis  of  an  uncontrollable  smile.  A  pang  of 
rebuke  smote  me,  however,  when  her  ladyship,  in  a  tone 
of  genuine  interest,  whispered,  — 

"  You  look  kind  o'  lonesome,  Mrs.  D. ;  'fraid  you  ain't 
enjoyin'  yourself  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed  ! "  I  answered,  with  the  ardent  imbe 
cility  with  which  persons  usually  perpetrate  social  fibs. 

"  Ain't  you  danced  ?  "  with  a  look  that  said,  "  If  people 
dare  to  slight  you  here,  just  let  me  know." 

"  Thank  you  !  I  really  would  prefer  "  — 

"  Nonsense  !  Come  along !  I  ain't  a-going  to  have 
no  wall-flowers  in  this  company.  I  want  to  introduce  you 
to  a  gentleman  from  Washington  —  monstrous  rich  !  "  (she 
added  in  an  intense  whisper)  "  made  a  hundred  and  ninety- 
five  thousand  dollars  in  the  last  two  months !  " 

It  was  in  vain  to  resist.  I  remember  a  huge  Titan  in 
dancing-master  attire,  —  a  flabby,  villanous  countenance, — 
diamonds  flashing  from  the  centre  of  a  wall  of  ruffled 
linen,  —  an  atmosphere  heavy  with  pomade,  —  and  an 


SHODDY.  121 

avalanche  of  "  excuse  me,  marms,"  following  sundry  acci 
dents  to  my  attire,  and  innumerable  heartrending  deser 
tions  and  escapades  during  the  progress  of  "  The  Lancers." 
Beyond  this  my  impressions  are  vague  and  unsatisfactory. 
In  fact,  there  are  many  things  connected  with  the  occasion 
that  I  would  "  willingly  let  die,"  not  excepting  the  mon 
strous  rich  gentleman  himself. 

Before  the  evening  was  over,  I  found  myself  in  a  smaller 
apartment,  gorgeously  furnished  and  rendered  truly  re 
markable  by  the  abominable,  showily-framed  paintings 
which  nearly  covered  the  walls.  A  human  quartette  was 
seated  upon  the  sofa  a  la  Kenwig,  and  it  needed  no  second 
look  to  convince  me  that  I  saw  the  four  children  of  our 
hostess.  Feminine  treble  and  masculine  base  were  repre 
sented  there  in  equal  parts  j  but  that  effect  was  purely  a 
matter  of  faith,  as  nothing  in  their  faces  betrayed  that 
they  ever  had  uttered  a  sound. 

Soon  the  mother  appeared.  "  Lor' !  Mrs.  D.,  you  here  ! 
Well,  I  had  to  get  out  of  the  parlers  for  a  minnit,  it's  so 
suffocating  there.  This  is  our  family  setting-room.  Ellen, 
stick  in  your  shoulder,  miss  !  "  (This  last  was  a  dramatic 
aside  directed  to  the  sofa  department).  "  I  see  you're 
lookin'  at  the  paintin's.  Well,  we  have  got  lots  of  them, 
that's  certain.  I  tell  Mr.  G.  we'll  have  a  picture-gallery 
before  we  know  it  —  ha  !  ha !  but  that's  nothing,  for  the 
man's  bound  to  have  every  thing  that  mone}7  can  buy  "  — 

(Here  a  radiant,  satisfied  ripple  of  expression  ran  across 
the  quartette  upon  the  sofa). 

I  tried  to  say  something ;  but  alas !  the  allusion  to  the 
possible  art-gallery  had  jeopardized  my  gravity  to  such  an 
extent  that  I  could  only  cough  pathetically. 
11 


122  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  This  'ere  big  picture,"  pursued  Mrs.  G.,  "  is  a  land- 
scape,  —  a  I'tm&scape  by  —  children  !  who  is  this  land.srtf/<? 
by?" 

"  Mr.  Benson,"  they  all  answered  in  a  breath,  closing 
their  mouths  instantly  like  four  traps. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Benson.  He's  a  Western  man,  Mrs.  D.,  and 
don't  charge  more'n  a  quarter  what  these  New  York  paint 
ers  ask.  He  paints  pretty,  though.  Ain't  that  white  fence 
too  natural  ? "  she  added,  letting  her  head  drop  sideways 
with  its  weight  of  admiration. 

Alas,  the  fence  was  too  natural,  but  I  did  not  trust  my 
self  to  say  so.  I  merely  bowed,  and  stared  vacantly  at  an 
ideal  work  representing,  as  I  suspected,  Cupid  and  Psyche, 
since  the  blue  damsel  depicted  therein  balanced  a  huge 
butterfly  upon  her  shoulder,  and  her  youthful  companion 
had  the  inevitable  wings  and  quiver  of  the  mischievous 
God  of  Love. 

"  That  picture,"  broke  forth  Mrs.  G.,  standing  in  superb 
disdain  beside  me,  "ain't  my  taste — Mr.  G.  bought  it. 
It's  a  fancy  piece  you  see  —  Cupid  and  —  children  !  what 
did  your  pa  say  was  the  name  of  this  picture  ?  " 

"Cupid  and  Per-sifc/i / "  answered  the  two  elder  ones 
simultaneously. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Cupid  and  Per-stfc/i  /  But,  Mrs.  D.,  you  must 
look  at  our  portraits :  we've  had  one  artist  for  a  year 
past  doing  all  our  family.  Here's  Mr.  G.  and  me.  You 
may  think  the  yellow  gloves  in  my  picture  ain't  mates  — 
anyone  might  —  but  they  are.  The  artist  was  bound  to 
put  one  of  them  'in  shadder,'  in  spite  of  all  7  could  say. 
This  is  Dan'el's  picture  (sit  up  straight,  Dan'el,  and  let  go 
your  sister's  sash)  :  it's  like  him,  all  but  the  hair.  The 


SHODDY.  123 

naughty  boy  "  (looking  severely  at  Daniel)  "  burnt  off  one 
side  of  his  curls  last  week,  and  we  had  to  cut  off  the  rest. 
Here's  our  youngest,  Tommy  —  the  end  one  on  the  sofa 
there  —  most  beautiful  boy!  Always  just  as  sassy  and 
lively  as  you  see  him  in  the  picture :  ain't  it  like  him, 
Mrs.  D.  ?  "  And,  following  the  example  of  Lord  Chatham, 
on  a  certain  well-known  occasion,  Mrs.  G.  "  paused  for  a 
reply." 

Shade  of  Polonius,  pity  me  !  Tommy  was  a  blue,  moist- 
skinned  little  fellow,  who  looked  as  if  he  were  in  a  state 
of  chronic  somnambulism.  What  could  I  do  but  falter, 
"  Very  like,"  without  venturing  to  take  a  second  look  at 
the  original  ? 

"Mr.  Benson  said  he  never  seen  a  harder  child  to 
paint,"  resumed  Mrs.  G. :  "  it  was  so  difficult  to  get  his 
expression."  (Alack !  I  should  think  it  would  have  been 
very  difficult.)  "  He  took  him  at  first  with  only  one  shoe 
on,  and  the  other  layin'  on  the  carpet ;  but  I  wasn't  goin' 
to  have  a  child  of  mine  lookin'  like  that,  so  I  made  Mr. 
Benson  just  change  the  shoe  on  the  carpet  to  something 
else,  and  put  good  pumps  on  the  poor  child.  It's  bad 
enough  to  have  your  young  ones  looking  like  wild  about  the 
house,  without  having  their  likeness  took  all  in  a  muss  !  " 

At  this  moment  I  saw,  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  mirth 
and  apprehension,  Mr.  Stevens  and  Miss  E.  enter  the 
"  setting-room."  The  lady  continued  her  picture-showing : 

"  This  next  one  is  Katy,"  she  said  :  "  the  child  ain't 
as  plump  and  rosy  as  that,  I  know,  but  her  pa  and  me 
felt  so  in  hopes  she'd  pick  up  that  we  had  her  took  fat. 
Now,  I  had  Ellen,  here  "  (halting  before  a  remarkably 
pigeon-breasted  specimen  of  high  art),  "  painted  correct  in 


124  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

every  thing  but  her  chest.  I  ordered  Mr.  Benson  to  make 
that  high,  because  the  poor  child  is  so  awful  flat,  that  it 
would  only  worry  her  father  and  me  to  see  it  hangin'  be 
fore  us  all  the  time.  Besides,  Ellen's  going  to  Dr.  Lewis's 
what-you-call-it  ?  Children!  what's  the  name  of  Dr.  Lewis's 
place?" 

"  Gym-naz-jum  !  "  replied  the  sofa  promptly. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  gym-naz-jum,  that's  it.  Well,  she's  going 
there  reg'lar  after  this,  and  Dr.  Lewis  says  it'll  soon  fetch 
her  chest  out  perfect." 

Oh!  the  agony,  to  me,  of  this  protracted  interview  — 
the  consciousness  of  being  watched  by  that  unpitying,  fun- 
loving  pair — the  convulsive  laughter  deep  in  my  very 
heart  as  my  good-natured  chaperon  led  me  from  one  mas 
terpiece  of  artistic  abomination  to  another !  There  were 
a  few  other  persons  in  the  apartment,  all  speaking  at  once, 
their  voices  mingling  strangely  with  the  rise  and  fall  of 
the  mpsic  surging  through  the  mansion ;  but  I  dared  not 
look  upon  them  as  the  irrepressible  mother  talked  on. 

"  Here  is  something  now  that  you  must  -see  "  (pointing 
to  an  execrably  painted  waterfall,  resembling  a  combina 
tion  of  green  calves'-foot  jelly  and  gingerbread).  "  This 
picture  is  my  daughter  Miry's  work ;  ain't  it  beautiful  ? 
but  do  you  know,  her  real  talent  is  figger-paintiit  —  that's 
her  talent !  I  showed  Mr.  Benson  (the  one  that  does  all 
our  pictures,  except  the  frames  —  they  come  from  Goupil's) 
—  I  showed  him  this  picture,  and  told  him  that  Miry's 
teacher  said  she  had  great  talent  for  painting ;  and  says 
he,  *  Madam,  if  your  daughter  has  a  talent  for  art,  it  must 
be  for  figger-paintin', — he  told  me  just  from  looking  at 
that  waterfall !  "  she  added  triumphantly. 


SHODDY.  125 

It  is  possible  that  by  this  time  my  expression  had  be 
come  idiotic,  or  at  least  blank.  Mrs.  G.  evidently  felt 
that  further  elucidation  was  required. 

"  Figger-paintin',"  she  continued,  raising  her  voice  to  a 
didactic  pitch,  "  is  paintin'  of  riggers  and  animals,  you 
know;  that's  what  the  artists  call  it  —  figger-paintin'  "  — 
laying  down  the  information  with  a  patronizing  emphasis. 

"  Ah  !  "  I  ventured. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Benson,  being  a  painter,  could  put  his  finger 
right  on  Miry's  talent  — '  it  must  be,  madam,'  says  he,  *  it 
must  be  it's '  —  heavens !  Ellen  Ann  !  catch  Dan'el !  " 

This  startling  peroration  was  caused  by  an  eccentric 
movement  of  the  child  Daniel,  who,  having  fallen  asleep, 
upright,  upon  the  sofa,  was  announcing,  by  a  preliminary 
pantomime,  his  intention  of  shortly  precipitating  himself 
upon  the  floor.  Fortunately,  Ellen  Ann  was  equal  to  the 
emergency.  "  Dan'el's "  precious  nose  was  saved,  and 
the  youth  restored  to  partial  wakefulness  by  means  of  a 
brisk  maternal  shaking. 

"  Gracious  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  G.,  becoming  suddenly 
conscious  that,  though  art  may  be  "  long,  time  is  fleeting," 
"  I  ought  to  be  in  the  parlor  with  the  company.  What 
will  folks  think  of  me  ?  Dear  me  !  what  a  bother  ! " 
So  saying,  the  lady  vanished  in  a  glimmer  of  blue,  purple, 
and  pink. 

Those  last  significant  words  were  echoed  in  my  brain 
again  and  again  that  night,  during  the  wakeful  hours  that 
followed  my  introduction  into  "  Shoddy  "  society.  Poor 
Mrs.  G. !  what  will  folks  think  of  her  ?  What  a  bother  ! 
what  a  bother ! 

A  full  and  faithful  record  of  the  manners  and  customs 


126  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

of  Shoddy  —  of  its  histories,  thoughts,  feelings,  and  deeds 
—  who  could  write  it  ?  We  have  had  time  to  afford  but 
a  glance  into  the  home  of  one  of  the  lucky  "  peddlers." 
As  for  the  "  tailors,"  with  their  fleet-winged  geese,  "  we 
could,  an'  if  we  would,"  tell  much  of  them  —  but  mean 
time  the  genii  of  the  lamp  are  waiting.  We  must  move 
onward.  Come  with  me  to  the  chief  domain  of  the  great 
magician,  he  who  fills  the  thousand  lamps  which  Aladdins 
uncounted  are  now  rubbing  in  bewildered  delight.  You 
will  be  surprised  to  learn  what  a  noisy,  dirty,  crazy-looking 
place  it  is.1  The  good  old  Quaker  who  named  the  State 
which  encloses  it  would  lift  his  hands  in  horror  at  the 
sight.  Squalid  and  tumble-down,  yet  at  the  same  time  a 
very  wilderness  of  newness,  with  its  swarming  population, 
with  its  sheds,  hovels,  improvised  hotels,  and  unsightly 
new  houses,  it  appears  to  have  been  conjured  by  the 
magician  during  a  severe  fit  of  nightmare.  For  miles 
and  miles,  crowds  of  derricks  rear  their  heads  in  every 
direction.  Engines,  bound  to  the  spot,  are  puffing  and 
laboring ;  engines  on  distant  rail-tracks,  screeching  be 
neath  an  invisible  lash  as  they  hurry  away  with  their 
burdens  ;  and  huge  blackened  reservoirs  are  pouring  forth 
torrents  of  wealth.  Near  by  are  the  bluffs,  sitting  like 
Memnons  guarding  the  rivers  of  oil  beneath.  Big  with 
the  secrets  of  ages,  they  lean  forward  as  if  humanity  had 
at  last  awakened  their  interest.  Sometimes  a  great 
tongue  of  flame  darting  upward,  as  if  to  lap  coolness  from 
the  clouds,  tells  us  that  an  oil-spring  has  been  accidentally 
set  on  fire.  Miles  of  carts,  groaning  like  living  things, 

l  Oil  Creek,  Venango  Co.,  Penn. 


SHODDY.  127 

wriggle  their  way  through  the  heavy  mud,  led  on  by 
patient  horses  and  swearing  men.  Women  in  motley 
attire,  anxious  to  buy  impossible  wares,  run  out  to  meet 
the  occasional  dray  of  the  itinerant  grocer  or  market-man. 
Dirty  boys,  with  the  flutter  of  possible  wealth  in  their 
rags,  bully  the  scions  of  "  recent  arrivals,"  or  anxiously 
hang  around  "  dad "  as  he  sinks  the  great  shaft  "  on 
shares  "  with  McConnaky.  Truly  "  Oil  Creek  "  presents 
a  strange  scene,  and  all  its  wildness  and  oddity  culminate 
in  its  metropolis.  Desolate  and  crowded,  neglected  and 
thriving,  abject  and  enterprising,  ruinous  in  aspect,  yet 
grand  with  invisible  golden  domes,  is  Oil  City ;  and  above 
and  around  floats  the  breath  of  the  great  magician,  stifling 
and  nauseous  to  unconverted  mortals,  yet  like  a  glorious 
incense  to  the  pilgrims  who  bow  down  and  worship  him. 

Verily  the  city  is  worthy  of  its  name.  Every  thing  is 
oil.  The  one  long,  crooked,  bottomless  street  glistens 
black  with  mud  and  oil.  The  shanties  and  houses  are 
oily.  Oily  derricks  stand  in  the  back-yards  ;  and  men 
with  their  thousands  "  in  bank "  walk  the  oily  planked 
sidewalk  in  garments  grimy  with  oil.  Oil-boats,  laden 
with  oil,  float  sleekly  past  on  the  oil-covered  river.  Even 
the  dogs  and  horses  are  oily  ;  and  the  little  fish  crowding 
under  the  oily  shore,  find  themselves  packed  like  sardines 
before  they  know  it.  There  are  oily  shops,  where  the  very 
wrapping-paper  breaks  out  in  transparent  blotches ;  and 
oily  banks,  attended  by  oily  cashiers,  where  oily  money  is 
deposited  as  the  product  of  oil.  There  is  oil  in  the  very 
atmosphere  you  breathe,  oil  in  the  water  you  drink,  and  a 
mysterious  unction  about  your  daily  fare.  The  inhabitants 
"  talk  oil,"  too,  until  your  senses  are  in  danger  of  slipping 


128  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

away  from  you.  Then,  again,  oil  is  the  one  great  social 
leveller.  Good  "  blood  "  is  at  a  discount,  and  a  derrick 
can  lift  to  the  plane  of  the  highest.  Your  teamster 
yesterday  may  be  your  Rothschild  to-day;  and  your 
neighbor,  however  detestably  vulgar  in  speech  and  manner, 
can  snub  you  with  a  successful "  drill."  If  he  has  "  struck 
oil,"  and  you  have  not,  local  ethics  will  exalt  him,  and 
defy  you  to  prove  your  superiority. 

Here  are  the  headquarters  of  the  great  magician.  Of 
course,  like  other  magicians,  he  has  been  for  ages  popping 
up  in  all  sorts  of  places ;  but  it  was  at  Oil  Creek  that 
he  first  touched  the  rock  for  the  benefit  of  modern  Alad- 
dins.  They  were  rough,  homespun  fellows,  ignorant  and 
wretchedly  poor,  for  their  lands  had  barely  yielded  a  sub 
sistence.  One  would  have  thought  them  just  the  men  to 
venture  desperately  into  the  jewelled  cave.  But  no : 
"  ready  cash  "  was  too  tempting.  Nearly  every  man  of 
them  sold  his  lamp  to  the  highest  bidder,  and  left  for 
more  fertile  fields.  Consequently  the  genii  of  wealth  and 
enterprise  were  soon,  as  all  the  world  knows,  serving  new 
masters. 

One  of  these  Aladdins,  however,  had  an  adopted 
mother,  a  shrewd  old  soul,  whom  we  will  call  the  widow 
McGannon  —  catch  her  selling  the  lamp  !  No,  she  rubbed 
it,  and  rubbed  it,  and  daily  the  genii  brought  her,  first 
gold,  then  "  greenbacks  ; "  she  stowed  the  treasure  away 
in  every  nook  and  cranny  of  her  tumble-down  shanty, 
until  it  could  hide  no  more.  This  was  all  very  well.  But 
one  day  the  old  lady  was  trying  to  light  her  fire :  the 
rusty  stove  had  been  troublesome  of  late,  harboring  spite 
it  seemed  to  the  green  wood  cast  aside  in  loading  rafts 


SHODDY.  129 

for  Pittsburg.  This  day  there  was  a  great  spluttering 
and  hissing  when  the  wood  went  in,  but  no  blaze.  In  her 
dilemma  the  old  lady  poured  from  a  bucket  some  of  the 
great  magician's  oil  upon  it,  when  presto  !  the  demons  of 
flame  sprang  forth !  In  vain  the  Widow  McGannon 
screamed  and  struggled  :  they  never  let  go  their  wreath 
ing  hold  upon  her  until  she  and  her  money  were  parted 
forever  ! 

This  old  lady  had  recently  drawn  a  will,  making  her 
adopted  son  Tommy  sole  heir.  For  fifteen  years  past,  the 
young  gentleman  had  been  content  to  do  odd  jobs  in  the 
village,  diverting  himself  in  the  meantime  with  toad- 
sticking  and  "  making  of  little  mud-pies : "  now  he  col 
lected  the  treasure  so  carefully  hidden  behind  board, 
rafter,  and  beam,  and  proceeded  to  investigate  his  affairs. 

Half  of  the  original  farm  had  been  sold  by  the  widow 
at  the  commencement  of  the  oil-fever.  The  remainder 
she  had  prudently  divided,  and  leased,  on  shares,  to  differ 
ent  "  companies,"  with  the  agreement  that  she  should  re 
ceive  half  of  the  oil  obtained.  By  this  time  the  yield  was 
prodigious.  The  ragged,  ignorant  country  boy  became  at 
once  a  millionnaire,  with  an  additional  income  variously 
estimated  to  be  from  three  to  six  thousand  dollars  a  day ! 

Remembering  Malvolio  cross-gartered,  we  need  not 
wonder  that  the  widow  McGannon's  heir  should  feel 
inclined  to  make,  in  Shoddy  phrase,  a  "  splurge  "  on  the 
occasion  of  his  sudden  good  fortune.  Young  men  do  not 
fall  every  day  into  fields  yellow  with  real  golden  butter 
cups.  Besides,  Tommy  was  good-hearted  and  generous ; 
and,  since  the  roots  were  sure  to  bloom  again,  he  scattered 
the  buttercups  in  every  direction. 


130  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

As  may  be  supposed,  Thomas  lost  no  time  in  "  seeing 
the  world."  Wherever  he  went,  tales  of  his  queer  ways 
and  startling  expenditure  split  the  ears  of  the  groundlings. 
To  hire  the  grandest  suite  of  apartments  of  the  leading 
hotels,  as  he  passed  along ;  to  entertain  his  acquaintances, 
intimate  and  casual,  with  princely  munificence  while  he 
staid,  and  when  he  left  for  an  absence  of  a  month  or 
more,  to  retain  the  rooms,  with  directions  that  his 
"friends"  arriving  in  the  mean  time  should  be  "made 
comfortable  "  at  his  expense.  All  this  was  a  mere  baga 
telle  to  him.  There  were  rumors  that,  when  he  pat 
ronized  the  theatres  (eschewing  private  boxes  as  "too 
confinin' ")  he  secured  a  dozen  seats,  in  order  to  have 
room  to  "  spread  himself,"  as  he  said ;  but  I  record  this 
eccentricity  with  mental  reservation. 

Certain  it  is,  however,  that  once,  while  visiting  a  West 
ern  city,  he  directed  his  friends  to  obtain  for  him  "  a 
prime  bang  turn-out,"  which,  translated,  means  a  carnage 
and  two  or  more  steeds  to  draw  it.  Soon  he  became  sole 
proprietor  of  a  "  five-thousand-dollar  team,"  with  equipage 
to  correspond.  Now  Tom  was  glorious  !  Never  rode 
young  man  more  incessantly.  His  "  team  "  seemed  des 
tined  to  solve  the  problem  of  perpetual  motion ;  and  the 
gaping  bystanders  could  hardly  tell  whether  they  were 
witnessing  a  pleasure-ride  or  a  "  runaway." 

But  what  youth  of  spirit  could  be  expected  to  derive 
satisfaction  forever,  even  from  a  "  turn-out "  ?  At  the 
expiration  of  a  fortnight,  Tommy's  coachman,  having 
vainly  waited  two  days  for  orders  from  "  the  boss,"  pre 
sented  himself  before  his  employer. 

Our  Aladdin  was  lounging  in  an  elegant  apartment, 


SHODDY.  131 

moodily  nibbling  a  cigar.  Perhaps  he  had  grown  tired  of 
"fun ;  "  or  it  may  be,  he  was  thinking  of  a  kind  voice  that 
the  flame-demons  had  stilled.  At  all  events,  he  was  medi 
tative. 

The  man  coughed,  and  said,  "  Yer  honor,"  twice,  before 
Tommy  looked  up,  with  a  gruff  "Hey?  What  do  you 
want  now  ?  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  John,  sir,  —  the  coachman,  sir.  Did  you  want  the 
carriage  brought  round  to-day,  sir  ? " 

"  No  :  I'm  going  off  in  half  an  hour,  —  going  East." 

"  Coin',  sir  !  An'  will  I  be  stoppm'  wid  you  any  longer, 
sir  ? " 

"  No,  I  s'pose  not.  Here,  take  this.  That'll  square 
us." 

"  Thank'ee,  sir.  Sure,  that's  good  pay,  sir.  But,  if  I 
may  make  so  bold,  what's  to  be  done  wid  the  horses,  sir  ? 
Is  it  kept  at  Williams's  they'll  be,  yer  honor  ?  " 

"  The  hosses  !  Oh,  I  don't  want  'em  no  longer  !  I'm 
going  off  for  good  in  a  few  minnits."  And  Tommy, 
quietly  puffing  his  cigar,  consulted  an  enormous  gold 
watch. 

"But,  yer  honor"  — 

"  Oh  !  go  long  with  you.  I  don't  want  the  team,  I  tell 
you.  Take  'em,  and  keep  'em  :  kill  'em,  or  do  what  you 
please  with  'em  ;  only  clear  out." 

"  Be  the  Lord,  sir !  And  is  it  kape  the  craytures  meself 
you're  sayin'  ? " 

Tommy  nodded,  gave  another  puff,  and  pointed  to  the 
door.  "  Yes  :  take  'em,  carriage  and  all,  and  go  about 
your  business." 

One  day,  when  Tommy  was  "  doing "  New  York,  he 


132  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

strode  into  Tiffany's  magnificent  jewelry  establishment  on 
Broadway,  and  startled  the  assembled  salesmen  with  a 
loud,  "  Show  us  a  dimond  !  " 

"  Here  is  one,  sir,"  responded  an  elegantly  modulated 
voice  from  the  "  diamond  department."  "  Eighty  dollars, 
sir." 

"  Pooh !  not  such  a  speck  as  that !  Something  big 
ger  ! " 

"  Allow  me  to  show  you  this.  Very  pure  stone,  sir,  — 
one  hundred  and  sixty  dollars." 

"  Nonsense  —  bigger  !  " 

Herewith  the  gentlemanly  salesman  (whom  I  have 
always  suspected  to  be  a  noble  lord  in  difficulties)  pro 
duced  a  brilliant  of  about  the  size  of  a  small  pea.  "  Exqui 
site  stone,  sir  —  first  water  —  eight  hundred." 

"  Look  here  !  "  cried  Tommy,  becoming  exasperated. 
"  If  you've  got  a  reg'lar  dimond,  fetch  it  out :  if  you 
haven't,  just  say  so." 

My  lord,  half-amused,  half-vexed,  here,  by  way  of  to 
tally  annihilating  his  rough  customer,  brought  out  the 
Koh-i-noor  of  the  place.  "  Will  this  suit  you,  sir  ?  Mod 
erately  fine  stone  :  price,  fifteen  thousand  dollars." 

"  Now  you're  comin'  to  it ! "  cried  Tommy,  decidedly 
mollified.  "  Is  this  the  tiptop  biggest  ?  " 

"  It  is,  sir,"  replied  his  lordship  coolly  (stroking  his  beard 
at  the  same  time,  as  if  to  say,  "  Now,  my  rustic  friend,  I 
have  wasted  quite  enough  time  upon  you  :  you  may  go.") 

"  You  ain't  got  nothin'  bigger  now  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  I  assure  you." 

"  Then  I'll  take  it." 

My  lord,  I  grieve  to  say,  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  and 


SHODDY.  133 

stared  ;  but  Thomas  at  once  produced  a  huge  roll  of 
"  greenbacks,"  counted  out  the  money,  and  the  sale  was 
concluded.1 

This,  as  I  am  told,  occurred  in  the  early  days  of  Shoddy. 
Now  my  lord,  having  become  familiar  with  its  ways  and 
means,  would  scarcely  lift  his  eyelids,  were  his  coal-heaver 
to  propose  to  buy  out  the  entire  concern. 

Not  all  the  newly  rich,  however,  allow  their  money  to 
be  seen  among  men.  There  are  instances  in  the  oil-coun 
try,  as  it  is  called,  of  persons  who  a  few  months  ago  were 
at  least  tranquil  in  their  poverty,  and  are  now  suffering  all 
the  tortures  of  the  miser.  I  know  of  one  whose  wealth 
has  come  upon  him  so  fast  as  literally  to  overwhelm  him. 
He  is  bowed  with  the  mere  weight  of  possession.  The 
flowing  wells  upon  his  single  acre  are  yielding  him  four 
thousand  dollars  daily,  as  his  share  of  the  profits.  He  is 
afraid  to  trust  to  the  banks,  and  government  bonds  do  not 
look  enough  like  money  to  satisfy  him.  He  must  have 
gold.  Consequently,  as  fast  as  his  money  pours  in  he 
converts  it  into  specie,  and  packs  it  in  boxes  and  butter- 
firkins.  These  he  buries  in  his  cellar,  each  one,  as  he 
hides  it  away,  leaving  a  corresponding  weight  of  care  in 
his  weary  heart.  Nothing  is  added  to  his  personal  com 
forts,  and  matters  of  luxury  are  unthought  of.  His  sole 
extra  outlay  is  to  hire  a  guard  of  twenty  men,  to  watch  his 
house  night  and  day.  A  less  number  might  suffice,  but 
perhaps  half  of  them  are  required  to  act  as  a  check  upon 
the  others.  Poor  rich  man  !  Who  would  dream  his 
dreams,  or  share  his  waking  cares,  to  be  worth  a  million  ? 

On  the  other  hand,  I  can  point  out  a  late  hard-working 
1  These  accounts  of  Tommy,  and  others,  are  cited  from  actual  life. 


134  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

rustic,  whom  wealth  has  truly  blest.  A  grand,  startled, 
honest  look  beams  from  the  man's  face.  A  millionnaire, 
he  can  hardly  write  his  own  name  ;  but  when  the  first  great 
wave  of  "  riches  "  surged  through  his  heart,  some  noble 
thoughts,  long  buried  under  the  sands  of  want  and  toil,  were 
laid  bare,  —  thoughts  that  he  will  cherish  reverently.  They 
will  tell  him  new  things  of  humanity,  of  his  own  undevel 
oped  powers.  They  will  guide  him  with  an  unerring  wis 
dom  in  training  his  sons  and  daughters.  The  satirists  of 
Shoddy  must  bow  to  that  man,  and  let  him  pass. 

In  contrast  to  the  bright,  contented  spirits,  bubbling  up 
on  the  surface  of  Oil  Creek  prosperity,  we  have  circulating 
thunder-gusts  in  the  form  of  men  who  have  invested  largely 
in  untried  lands,  and  failed  to  realize  their  expectations. 
Forsaken  wells  are  seen  in  every  direction,  their  derrick- 
monuments  marking  the  spot  where  hope  and  cash  lie 
buried,  without  a  chance  of  resurrection.  Not  more  black 
are  the  smoke-stacks,  everywhere  dotting  the  scene,  than 
the  looks  of  these  men  ;  and  their  talk  is  a  marvellous 
mixture  of  gall  and  oil.  Sometimes  you  meet  a  weary, 
well-dressed  man,  anxiously  scanning  the  "operations," 
and  asking  questions  of  every  clown  and  laborer  he  meets. 
He  is  an  investigator,  and  he  lacks  "  grit."  You  can  see 
it  in  his  eye.  If  he  have  not  already  lost  his  money  "  in 
oil,"  he  will  lose  it  soon. 

One  of  these  heavy-hearted  men  lately  hastening  along 
the  plank  sidewalk  of  Oil  City,  accidentally  knocked  over 
a  starved-looking  little  girl,  whose  tattered  garments 
seemed  to  have  passed  beyond  the  reach  of  soap. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  !  Are  you  hurt,  my  poor 
child  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  stooping  to  lift  her. 


SHODDY.  135 

"  Go  'long  !  "  cried  the  girl,  springing  to  her  feet,  and 
shaking  down  her  rags  with  immense  hauteur.  "  I  ain't 
poor  !  Dad  struck  ile  yesterday  !  " 

We  can  imagine  the  wistful  gaze  that  followed  the  child 
on  her  onward  way. 

It  is  instructive  to  watch  the  developments  of  the  would- 
be  Shoddy.  In  the  conflict  of  pride  and  cupidity,  the  best 
part  of  the  man  is  taken  captive,  literally  falling  into  the 
hands  of  the  enemy.  Instructive,  too,  and  sad,  to  note 
the  trials  and  mortifications  befalling  the  elect  of  Shoddy. 
Think  of  the  chagrin  of  the  new  billionnaire  at  Washing 
ton,  when  he  saw  in  the  morning  papers  comments  like 
this  on  his  first  grand  ball :  "  A  truly  magnificent  affair  ; 
cost,  it  is  estimated,  $100,000,  which  represents  the  exact 
profit  on  one  hundred  cannon,  large  numbers  of  which 
have  been  furnished  the  government  by  this  contractor." 

Think  of  the  weariness  of  the  Shoddy  lady,  who,  ennuied 
with  her  superb  house  and  uncongenial  surroundings,  said 
to  a  friend  of  mine,  "  Ah  !  it's  all  very  fine ;  but  my  old 
friends  kind  o'  stay  'way  from  me,  and  my  new  ones  make 
fun  of  me,  I  know  they  do.  Every  thing  that  money  can 
buy  I've  got  by  the  bushel ;  but  I  ain't  happy,  Miss  Mary, 
I  really  ain't  happy." 

Study  Shoddy  while  you  may.  It  is  a  transient  "  insti 
tution  "  at  best.  Soon  its  strong  characteristics  will  be 
lost,  its  peculiarities  worn  away.  Its  like  has  never  been 
on  earth.  Remembering  those  ten  remarkable  years  when 
speculation  ran  mad  over  Europe,  when  the  South  Sea 
bubble  encompassed  all  England,  and  John  Law  ruled 
France  with  his  Midas-promise  and  dissolving  views,  it  is 
safe  to  assert  that  the  Shoddy  of  to-day  stands  without  a 


136  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

parallel  in  human  history.  It  is  the  one  new  thing  under 
the  sun  not  dreamed  of  by  Solomon.  America,  in  common 
with  all  Christendom,  regards  it  with  mingled  feelings  of 
disgust,  amusement,  and  concern.  "  Where  will  it  end  ?  " 
is  the  question  on  every  lip. 

Verily  it  will  end  just  where  it  began,  —  in  human 
nature  itself.  It  is  not  more  American,  after  all,  than  it  is 
Adamite.  That  it  has,  for  the  present,  found  a  local  habi 
tation  and  a  name  in  America,  is  because  nowhere  else 
has  Nature  so  lavishly  and  unexpectedly  poured  forth  her 
treasures  among  the  people,  or  a  national  emergency  arisen 
offering  temptations  so  unparalleled,  both  to  enterprise 
and  cupidity.  And  Shoddy  has  its  mission.  It  will  en 
able  mankind  to  see  more  plainly  than  ever  before  the 
absurdity  of  pretence,  the  vulgarity  of  display,  and  the 
folly  of  imagining  that  money  alone  can  make  a  gentleman. 
It  will  point  a  brazen  ringer,  for  all  time,  at  imposture  and 
treason,  and  the  rottenness  of  the  virtue  that  presents  its 
fair  side  to  individual  men,  but  yields  to  temptation  in 
dealing  with  governments  and  corporations.  It  will  de 
velop  new  necessities  and  new  industries,  bring  a  fresh, 
hardy  element  to  society,  by  educating  new  classes,  open 
a  channel  through  which  the  poor  may  receive  a  share  of 
the  refining  influences  which  surround  the  rich  ;  and,  what 
is  of  very  great  importance,  it  will  put  money  into  the 
national  purse. 

Large  capitalists  are  needed  in  these  days  for  vast 
enterprises  ;  and  Shoddy,  with  its  bursting  coffers,  can 
furnish  its  quota  of  these.  The  Americo-Russian  tele 
graph  has  its  prospective  message  to  Shoddy.  The  Pacific 
Railroad  is  its  humble  servant.  Other  proposed  public 


SHODDY.  137 

improvements  beckon  to  it  invitingly.  Science,  even,  is 
pointing  the  way  that  Shoddy  must  go.  From  north, 
south,  east,  west,  —  wherever  gold,  oil,  quicksilver,  or  coal 
lie  buried,  —  there  is  a  call  for  Shoddy  to  come  and  grow 
richer  still ;  and  Shoddy  will  eagerly  answer  the  summons. 
Just  now,  when  the  nation  is  coming  out  of  its  struggle  for 
life  or  death,  when  it  requires  fresh  explorers  and  new 
resources  to  enable  it  to  meet  the  tremendous  demands 
made  upon  it,  Providence  reveals  these  long-kept  secrets, 
discloses  these  hidden  stores,  these  illimitable  reservoirs 
of  wealth,  and  —  let  us  believe  it  —  gives  us  Shoddy. 

It  may  seem  whimsical  to  begin  my  argument  with  fairy 
land,  and  end  it  with  Providence ;  but  does  not  life  itself 
so  open  and  close  ?  The  magic  delights  of  our  childhood 
become  recognized  as  God-given  in  our  age.  Our  early 
wishes  are  for  fairy  benefits  j  our  later  prayers  are  for 
divine  blessings. 

12* 


SKETCHES. 


MY  MYSTERIOUS  ENEMY. 


[The  following  narrative  is  a  true  record  of  incidents  which  occurred  in 
New  York,  not  many  years  ago.  The  affair  made  some  talk  in  private  circles, 
but  I  believe  it  never  got  into  the  papers.  For  obvious  reasons  fictitious  names 
are  used.  The  account  is  given  to  the  public  in  the  belief  that  it  may  throw 
light  upon  the  mysterious  question  of  Natural  Antipathies.] 

NEVER  liked  him.  Nay,  my  whole  nature  re 
coiled  in  terror  when  my  glance  first  met  his 
small,  piercing  eyes,  as  he  suddenly  passed 
through  the  reception-parlor,  where  I  sat  chatting  with 
Lieutenant  Charles.  The  lieutenant  noticed  my  terri 
fied  start,  and  the  change  of  color  which  doubtless  ac 
companied  it;  for  he  sprang  up  instantly,  and  would 
have  followed  the  intruder  had  I  not  promptly  checked 
him,  and,  with  a  forced  smile,  endeavored  to  resume  the 
conversation  so  unpleasantly  interrupted. 

"  And  you  will  not  give  me  the  picture,  Fanny  ?  "  asked 
the  lieutenant,  after  a  few  moments'  pleading  concerning 
my  carte  dc  visite  which  had  lately  been  taken.     "  You  will 
not  give  it  to  me ! "  he   echoed  sadly,  after  reading   his 
answer  in  my  countenance  ;  "  but  surely  I  may  see  it  ?  " 
"Certainly,"  I  answered,  half  regretting   the  coquetry- 
Hi 


142  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

which  had  prompted  me  to  deny  him  in  the  matter. 
"  It  is  in  my  room :  I  will  bring  it  to  you  in  an  instant." 

Rising  from  my  seat  as  I  spoke,  I  hastened  into  the 
hall.  Good  gracious  !  there  He  stood,  at  the  very  foot  of 
the  stairway,  motionless,  as  though  he  had  been  listening 
to  our  conversation.  I  sprang  back  into  the  room  with  a 
beating  heart,  and  tears  of  vexation  in  my  eyes. 

"  You  have  seen  him  again !  "  exclaimed  the  lieutenant, 
starting  from  his  seat. 

But  before  the  door  was  reached  my  hand  was  upon  his 
arm  — 

"  No,"  I  urged,  "  do  not  go  :  it  will  be  useless,  and  ex 
cite  an  unnecessary  alarm  in  the  household.  In  a  moment 
he  will  go  away,  and  I  will  then  get  you  the  picture,  and 
laugh  at  my  folly  at  the  same  time." 

"  Your  folly  in  getting  me  the  picture  ?  "  bantered  the 
lieutenant  gayly.  Then  he  added  quickly,  with  a  new 
anxiety  on  his  face,  "  Forgive  me,  Fanny,  this  matter  is 
more  serious  with  you  than  I  at  all  imagined.  Surely  there 
is"  — 

"  Say  no  more  about  it,"  I  interrupted,  trying  to  smile. 
"  There  are  some  influences  which  it  is  useless  to  attempt 
to  explain.  We  can  only  recognize,  and,  if  need  be,  strug 
gle  to  resist  them.  I  am  ashamed  of  the  weakness  which 
you  have  witnessed  this  morning,  and  must  trust  to 
your  generosity  not  to  interpret  it  too  harshly." 

He  pressed  my  hand  respectfully,  and  was  silent.  But 
what  meant  that  shrewd,  almost  sarcastic  smile,  when  a 
moment  afterward,  as  we  heard  the  hall  door  shut  heavily, 
he  said,  "  Your  enemy  is  probably  out  of  the  way  now  : 
will  you  bring  me  the  picture  ? " 


MY  MYSTERIOUS  ENEMY.  143 

This  "  enemy,"  as,  alas !  the  lieutenant  had  only  too 
truly  called  him,  was,  like  myself,  a  lodger  in  a  boarding- 
house.  The  landlady,  Mrs.  Hone,  heard  me  sympathet 
ically  when,  in  confidence,  I  hinted  at  the  annoyance  he 
caused  me,  and,  in  her  peculiar  phraseology,  promised  "to 
rid  the  house  of  him  "  as  soon  as  she  possibly  could ;  but 
begged  me  not  to  speak  of  the  matter  in  the  mean  time, 
for  there  was  nothing,  she  said,  which  she  dreaded  so  much 
as  "  a  stir  "  among  her  boarders ;  and  among  her  lady 
boarders  she  was  sure  "  this  business  would  make  a  stir  if 
any  thing  could." 

I  promised  to  remain  silent,  though  more  than  once 
afterward  I  was  tempted  to  regret  my  hasty  acquiescence. 
Mr.  Williams,  a  strong  young  man,  with  whom  I  was  a 
favorite,  lived  on  the  fourth  floor ;  and  he  could  doubt 
less  soon  have  effected  the  removal  I  so  much  longed  for. 
As  for  leaving,  myself,  that  was  impossible.  I  was  an 
orphan,  —  a  dependent  on  a  wealthy  invalid  uncle,  who, 
being  once  comfortably  settled  in  Mrs.  Hone's  excellently 
kept  house,  would  not  of  course  be  tempted  to  leave  it 
except  for  some  more  potent  and  tangible  reason  than  I 
could  offer. 

Whether  my  tormentor  knew  my  sentiments  toward  him 
or  not,  I  cannot  say ;  but  I  never,  during  the  uneasy  days 
that  followed,  heard  him  hurrying  along  the  hall,  or 
stealthily  passing  my  room  close  to  its  very  door,  but  I 
felt  an  involuntary  shudder,  and  with  difficulty  suppressed 
the  cry  that  rose  to  my  lips.  Once  I  met  him  on  the 
stairway,  and,  scarce  conscious  of  what  I  was  doing,  I 
bounded  past  him  with  a  quick  scream,  and  rushed  into 
my  room.  Why,  I  cannot  tell,  except  that  my  whole  being 


144  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

loathed  the  creature,  and  felt  a  presentiment  of  coming 
evil  from  his  presence.  Not  one  word  had  we  ever  ex 
changed,  and  I  do  believe  if  he  had  spoken  to  me  I  should 
have  fainted  with  terror ;  but  his  restless,  intense  glance 
had  more  than  once  met  mine,  and  that  was  enough. 
There  was  a  natural  antipathy  between  us  :  we  were  born 
to  be  enemies. 

Meantime  my  brave  lieutenant  had  gone  back  to 
the  war.  He  had,  after  all,  taken  my  picture  with  him 
and  my  heart  also.  Only  those  who  love,  and  are  doomed 
for  a  while  to  be  parted,  with  chances  of  danger  and  death 
between  them,  can  know  of  the  eagerness  with  which  I 
awaited  his  first  letter.  Soon  it  came,  one  glorious  sum 
mer  afternoon,  with  its  more  glorious  news  :  "Our  army  is 
moving  rapidly.  We  shall  fight !  We  shall  conquer !  " 
the  letter  said,  "  and  some  of  us  must  fall ;  but,  living  or 
dying,  dearest,  remember  that  one  heart  shall "  — 

I  read  no  more  ;  for  at  the  bare  thought  of  the  possi 
bility  of  losing  my  hero,  the  half-read  sheet  fell  from  my 
hands,  and  there,  in  the  solitude  of  my  room,  I  leaned 
upon  the  window-sill,  and  wept  long  and  bitterly.  I  loved 
my  country,  freedom,  and  the  right ;  but  oh !  did  I  love 
them  enough  for  the  chance  of  this  ?  My  brave,  noble 
lover  !  If  he  should  perish,  what  would  freedom,  kindred, 
the  light  of  heaven  itself,  be  to  me  ?  Suddenly  a  rustling 
outside  of  my  slightly-opened  door  aroused  me ;  and  re 
called  to  my  letter,  I  stooped  to  pick  it  up.  //  was  gone! 

Bewildered  and  alarmed,  I  hastily  shook  the  folds  of  my 
dress,  and  searched  floor,  table,  and  chair,  quite  certain 
that  no  other  human  being  had  been  in  the  room  since  I 
had  entered  with  the  letter,  when  the  door  opened  wider, 


MY  MYSTERIOUS  ENEMY.  145 

and  our  landlady's  head,  decked  in  all  the  pride  of  her 
gorgeous  dinner-cap,  was  thrust  into  the  apartment.  Her 
face  was  paler  than  usual,  and  her  manner  somewhat  flur 
ried,  as  she  laughingly  exclaimed,  — 

"  Miss  Fanny,  if  you  leave  your  love-letters  lying  about 
the  halls,  you  can't  expect  to  keep  your  secrets  long.  Not 
that  I  have  learned  them,"  she  added  quickly;  "but  some 
less  trusty  personage  might  have  picked  it  up,  you  know." 

"  Mrs.  Hone,"  I  gasped,  scarcely  heeding  her  words  as 
I  almost  snatched  the  precious  sheet  from  her  hands,  "  I 
entreat  you  to  tell  me  how  you  came  in  possession  of  this 
letter." 

"  Why,  I've  told  you  already,"  she  replied  rather  sharply. 
"  I  picked  it  up  in  the  entry,  just  outside  of  your  door.  It 
was  no  ghost  dropped  it  there  either  (so  you  needn't  turn 
so  white),  but  only  that  R"  — 

A  sudden  thought  seemed  to  check  her  intended  confi 
dence  ;  for  she  muttered  something  about  people  being  so 
"  awful  nervous,"  and,  breaking  into  a  disagreeable  laugh, 
hastily  left  the  room.  A  moment  afterward  I  heard  her 
angry  voice  chiding  Betty,  the  housemaid,  for  some  real 
or  fancied  neglect  of  duty,  with  the  sharp  reprimand  not 
to  "  leave  that  door  open  again,  if  she  valued  her  place." 

That  door  !  Could  she  mean  my  door  ?  And  was  I,  as 
far  as  practicable,  to  be  kept  shut  up  in  my  room,  so  that 
he  might  wander  unrestrainedly  about  the  house  ?  And 
what  had  meant  my  landlady's  flurried  manner,  her  sud 
den  reticence,  if  in  some  way  my  tormentor  had  not  been 
concerned  in  this  mysterious  occurrence  ?  For  though  I 
by  this  time  knew  well  enough  who  had  taken  the  letter, 
how  it  had  been  accomplished  without  my  knowledge  was 
'3 


146  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

a  mystery.  It  was  not  more  than  a  week  since  I  had  first 
spoken  to  Mrs.  Hone  of  the  object  of  my  fears ;  and 
already  she  would  flush  angrily  if  I  even  alluded  to  the 
conversation  and  to  her  solemn  promise  to  relieve  me  of  his 
odious  presence.  She  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that 
"  some  persons  were  too  fidgety  for  comfort ;  and  for  her 
part,  she  couldn't  for  the  life  of  her  see  what  there  was  to 
make  such  a  fuss  about.  Goodness  knew,  she  didn't  want 
any  such  creature  as  him  in  her  house  ;  and  if  I  thought 
she  did,  I  was  mistaken  :  that  was  all !  "  After  this  sin 
gular  change  of  feeling,  I  kept  my  own  counsel  in  the 
matter,  though  I  fully  resolved  to  avail  myself  of  the  first 
opportunity  of  persuading  my  uncle  to  change  his  board 
ing-place. 

This  was  the  way  that  matters  stood  on  the  day  that 
my  letter  was  so  mysteriously  borne  away  almost  from  my 
very  hands.  After  recovering  it,  I  eagerly  read  it  through 
again  and  again,  shuddering,  in  spite  of  myself,  at  a  cer 
tain  passage  which  the  reader  shall  see.  The  lieutenant, 
considerate  in  all  things,  had  evidently  tried  to  express 
himself  so  as  to  annoy  me  as  slightly  as  possible ;  but  it 
thrilled  me  for  all  that.  Here  is  the  passage  :  — 


"  By  the  way,  my  dear  Fanny,  you  must  know  that  there  came  into  our 
tent  last  night  what  seemed  to  me  the  very  identical  being  who  so  startled  you 
that  evening.  Has  he  disappeared  from  No.  123?  If  so,  it  was  himself. 
If  not,  it  was  his  double.  Size,  style,  and  gait  were  the  same.  He  had  the 
identical  quick,  glancing  eye,  sharp,  white  teeth,  and  pointed  nose.  Can 
there  be  two  such  beings  ?  Was  it  from  sympathy  with  you  that  I  felt  such 
an  instinctive  aversion  to  him  ?  I  made  a  dash  at  the  fellow  ;  but  he  escaped 
into  the  darkness  as  mysteriously  as  he  had  come.  Our  captain  and  a  few  of 
our  boys  were  in  the  tent  at  the  time,  and  seemed  to  be  much  astonished  at  my 
violent  movements ;  and  at  my  remarking  (as  I  quietly  sat  down  among  then? 


MY  MYSTERIOUS  ENEMY.  147 

again),  'That  fellow  came  precious  near  receiving  his  finishing-touch,'  they 
all  protested  that  they  had  seen  no  one  enter  the  tent>  and  begged  for  an  ex 
planation  ;  but  I  chose  to  let  them  remain  in  their  mystified  condition.  A 
mysterious  coincidence,  at  least,  was  it  not  ? " 

To  me  it  would  have  been  a  terrible  circumstance ;  and 
so  I  told  him  in  my  reply.  But  my  brave  hero  knew  not 
the  meaning  of  fear. 

At  last,  after  reading  the  letter  over  (I  am  ashamed  to 
tell  how  many  times),  I  sought  the  bedside  of  my  uncle, 
and  endeavored  to  render  the  long  summer  afternoon  less 
tedious  to  the  dear  sufferer.  He  was  aged ;  and  the 
natural  infirmities  of  his  years  had  been  hastened  and 
increased  by  a  slow,  incurable  disease.  How  my  heart 
went  forth  toward  him  as,  with  loving  hand,  I  brushed 
back  the  silver  locks  from  his  temples,  longing  that  my 
touch  might  heal  as  well  as  soothe  !  Ere  long  he  passed 
into  a  tranquil  slumber ;  and  carefully  adjusting  the  sashes 
so  that  the  soft  breeze  might  play  refreshingly  about  him, 
I  slipped  noiselessly  into  my  chamber. 

And  now,  at  this  point,  I  must  become  minute,  and  per 
haps  even  tedious  in  detail ;  for  I  have  a  strange  story  to 
tell,  and  wish  faithfully  to  relate  the  occurrences  of  that 
night. 

There  was  but  one  other  boarder  on  the  second  floor  of 
Mrs.  Hone's  house  besides  my  uncle  and  myself.  This 
was  a  stern,  unsociable  man,  named  Foster ;  a  bachelor, 
who  always  returned  one's  cordial  "  Good-morning  "  with 
an  unmoved  face  and  a  jerky  bow,  as  though  his  good 
angel  had  suddenly  pulled  some  invisible  string  to  prevent 
him  from  seeming  the  surly  fellow  he  really  was.  This 
gruff  personage  stalked  up  the  stairs,  and  into  his  room, 


148  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

soon  after  I  had  entered  mine.  Our  apartments  were  at 
the  back  of  the  house,  and  adjoining ;  though  his,  being 
but  a  small  chamber  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  had  its  door 
standing  at  a  right  angle  with  my  own.  I  could  hear  him 
moving  briskly  around  his  room  for  a  while  ;  and  finally, 
as  I  arose  to  close  my  door,  saw  him  emerge,  carpet-bag 
in  hand,  and  disappear  at  the  turn  of  the  stairway.  Soon 
after  there  were  other  footsteps  in  his  chamber,  apparently 
those  of  two  persons ;  and  I  could  hear  my  landlady's 
voice  saying,  in  her  usual  indiscreet  over-tone,  — 

"  There  is  no  other  way  :  we  will  have  to  try  poison, 
though  I  dread  the  consequences." 

Then  there  was  some  muttered  reply  ;  and  a  discussion 
ensued,  through  which  I  could  plainly  distinguish  the 
words,  "  No  one  in  here  to-night  "  —  "  never  knew  it  to 
fail »  —  «  children  "  —  "  horrible  !  "  —  "  the  uncle's  room  " 
—  "  danger  "  —  "  uncle  can't  get  out  of  bed  "  —  "  no,  it's 
better  here,"  &c. 

Just  then  uncle's  hand-bell  tingled  its  familiar  sum 
mons,  and  I  hastened  to  his  bedside. 

"  Fanny,"  he  said,  "  can't  you  make  it  a  little  lighter 
here  ?  I've  had  one  of  my  ugly  dreams ;  and  I  want  to 
be  certain  you're  all  right." 

"  To  be  sure  I  am,  uncle,  dear,"  I  rejoined  cheerfully, 
at  the  same  time  lighting  the  gas  near  the  head  of  his  bed. 
"  Is  that  too  bright  for  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no  :  leave  it  up  —  so.  Now  come  tell  me  what 
you  have  been  doing  this  afternoon." 

Should  I  tell  him  every  thing  ?  No.  He  either  would 
be  distressed  at  his  own  powerlessness,  or  would  laugh  at 
my  nervous  fears.  So  I  replied,  at  the  same  time  placing 


MY  MYSTERIOUS  ENEMY.  149 

a  small  table  near  his  bed,  preparatory  to  bringing  up  his 
supper,  — 

"  Doing,  uncle  ?  Why,  I  have  been  here  with  you  most 
of  the  afternoon ;  and  before  that  I  was  reading  a  letter 
from"  — 

u  Ah,  I  understand !  Well,  it's  all  my  own  fault  for  ever 
letting  that  fellow  with  the  buttons  have  a  word  to  say  to 
you.  I  shall  have  to  hire  some  fat  old  nurse  in  a  year  or 
two,  while  you'll  be  sporting  around  with  that  scamp, 
—  hey?" 

My  only  answer  to  this  was  a  laughing  threat  to  go  to 
the  young  scamp  at  once,  if  uncle  were  not  more  respect 
ful  ;  though  at  heart  I  felt  quite  resolved,  that,  married  or 
single,  I  should  never  resign  my  self-imposed  duty  of 
nursing  him. 

"Well,  well,"  said  uncle,  "you've  always  been  such  a 
good  girl  I  sha'n't  be  hard  on  you.  See  if  it's  time  for 
my  mixture." 

"  No,  not  for  an  hour  yet.  You  must  take  your  supper 
first." 

"  Very  well.  Don't  put  any  butter  on  the  toast  to-night  ; 
and  if  the  chicken's  as  tough  as  it  was  yesterday,  bring  up 
something  else." 

"  Yes,  uncle." 

On  my  way  from  the  dining-room  with  uncle's  supper,  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  taking  a  look  into  Mr. 
Foster's  apartment.  Resting  my  tray  in  a  vacant  niche  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  I  turned  the  knob ;  but  the  door 
would  not  open.  It  was  locked,  and  the  key  had  been 
taken  away.  Thrust  partly  under  my  own  closed  door, 
was  a  pencilled  note  from  one  of  the  lady-boarders,  re- 
'3* 


150  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

questing,  that,  if  my  patient  were  well  enough,  I  would 
pass  the  evening  in  her  room.  Well  pleased  at  the  pros 
pect  of  a  cheerful  gossip  with  Mrs.  Gray's  delightful  fam 
ily,  I  resolved  to  avail  myself  of  the  invitation  after  my 
uncle  had  fallen  into  his  usual  slumber,  and  so  I  lost  no 
time  in  attending  to  my  evening  duties. 

It  was  nearly  half-past  eight  before  I  found  myself  in 
Mrs.  Gray's  parlor ;  and  by  this  time  the  beautiful  after 
noon  had  passed  into  a  chilly,  unpleasant  evening. 
But  we  soon  forgot  outside  darkness  in  the  brightness 
and  comfort  within. 

I  lingered  in  Mrs.  Gray's  apartment  until  ten  o'clock. 
Then,  after  seeing  that  uncle  was  comfortably  settled  for 
the  night,  I  sought  my  own  room,  and,  carefully  locking  the 
door  leading  into  the  hall,  began  to  undress.  This  done, 
I  stood  in  my  long  night-wrapper  near  the  gaslight,  and 
began  reading  once  more  the  words  of  my  absent  soldier.. 
I  had  just  come  to  the  passage,  "  By  the  way,  my  dear 
Fanny,"  when  a  sudden  but  continuous  clicking  startled 
me.  It  might  have  been  the  sharp  dropping  of  rain  on 
the  roof  of  the  piazza  beneath  my  opened  window,  or  the 
ticking  of  the  queer  clock  in  Mr.  Foster's  room;  or  it 
might  have  been  caused  by  some  leakage  in  the  Croton 
pipes,  or  the  creaking  of  the  poor  sick  baby's  cradle  in 
the  room  above.  It  might,  in  short,  have  arisen  from 
any  of  these  or  twenty  other  innocent  causes ;  and  so  I 
tried  to  believe.  Hastily  putting  the  letter  away,  I  turned 
the  gas  entirely  off  (unintentionally,  for  that  matter,  but 
my  hand  was  not  steady),  and  sought  my  pillow,  quite 
sure  that  I  should  not  sleep  a  wink  that  night.  But  youth 
and  health  are  often  proof  against  more  serious  alarms 


MY  MYSTERIOUS  ENEMY.  !$! 

than  mine  had  been ;  and  I  soon  sank  into  a  profound 
slumber. 

Hours  afterward  I  awoke  with  a  start  from  some  trou 
bled  dream.  What  it  had  been,  I  could  not  precisely 
recall ;  but  I  was  agitated,  and  my  brow  and  neck  seemed 
fairly  dripping  with  moisture.  In  an  instant  the  deep 
tones  of  a  neighboring  church-clock  striking  "  two  "  re 
assured  me,  with  its  familiar,  every-day  sound  ;  and  I  soon 
floated  off  again  into  the  land  of  dreams.  This  time  the 
sleep  was  far  less  sound ;  and  more  than  once,  without 
quite  awaking,  I  instinctively  drew  my  muslin  night- 
sleeve  across  my  forehead.  It  was  strangely  wet, 
though  I  could  feel  the  cool  night  air  stealing  through  the 
darkness  from  the  open  window  opposite.  After  turning 
uneasily  upon  my  pillow  for  a  while,  I  finally  sank  into  a 
deeper  slumber  once  more,  and  must  have  remained  un 
conscious  for  nearly  an  hour,  when  suddenly  I  started  up 
with  a  sense  of  acute  pain,  and,  wide  awake  in  an  instant, 
became  conscious  that  /  was  not  alone.  Else  why  that 
heavy  thump  upon  the  floor,  arid  the  quick  rush  that  fol 
lowed  ?  All  was  dark  ;  but  I  could  feel  that  the  pillow,  my 
face,  neck,  and  the  shoulder  and  sleeves  of  my  nightdress, 
were  soaked  with  the  strange,  clammy  moisture.  Seized 
with  a  horrid  suspicion,  and  darting  from  the  bed  in  an 
agony  of  terror,  I  flew  to  the  other  side  of  the  chamber, 
and,  groping  for  my  uncle's  door,  burst  with  a  cry  into  his 
room. 

Dimly  lighted  as  it  was,  I  could  see  every  object  dis 
tinctly  as  I  entered;  and  first  of  all,  because  the  long 
mirror  hung  directly  opposite  the  door,  and  the  small  gas- 
jet  threw  its  rays  full  upon  me,  I  saw  my  own  reflection  in 


152  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

its  bright  surface.  Great  heavens !  I  was  covered  with 
blood  !  My  hands  were  wet  with  it,  while  my  cheek  and 
throat  were  crimson  with  the  streams  which  flowed  pro 
fusely  from  my  temples.  What  could  I  do  ?  My  uncle 
still  slept  soundly,  under  the  effects  of  an  opiate  which 
his  physicians  had  prescribed  for  him.  Frantic  with  fear, 
I  tore  into  the  hall,  flew  up  stairs,  and  would  have  gone 
into  Mrs.  Gray's  room,  had  I  not  come  into  collision  with 
my  landlady  at  the  landing-place. 

"  Goodness  !  Miss  Fanny,  was  it  you  that  screamed  ? 
What  has  happened  ?  Hush !  "  —  and  she  drew  me  quickly 
into  her  little  room.  "  Why  your  shoulder's  all  wet ! 
Gracious  !  child,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Here,  you're  safe 
enough  now :  don't  cry.  Oh  !  where  are  the  matches  ? 
I  haven't  had  my  room  dark  at  night  before,  I  don't  know 
when.  Here  they  are  !  Hush !  you'll  scare  Mrs.  Gray." 

By  this  time  the  room  was  lighted,  and  apparently  Mrs. 
Hone  was  as  much  alarmed  as  myself  when  she  saw  my 
condition.  She  was,  however,  a  woman  of  strong  nerve, 
and  in  a  moment  was  coolly  bathing  my  face  and  neck, 
and  endeavoring  to  stanch  the  blood  still  flowing  from  my 
temples.  When  the  bleeding  ceased,  she  lost  no  time  in 
changing  my  garments,  and  making  me  as  comfortable  as 
possible. 

For  some  time  I  staid  in  the  landlady's  room,  and  we 
talked  over  the  affair  together.  There  was  but  one  solu 
tion  of  the  matter ;  and  when,  with  a  shudder,  I  suggested 
it  to  her,  she  answered  softly,  — 

"  Just  so,  Miss  Fanny :  it  was  nothing  else,  depend  upon 
it.  Poor  child  !  Did  you  see  him  !  " 

"  No,"  I  whispered,  "  the  room  was  dark  ;  but  I  heard 


MY  MYSTERIOUS  ENEMY.  153 

him  distinctly.  Oh  !  Mrs.  Hone,  I  can  never  sleep  in  that 
room  again.  I  must  leave  the  house  to-morrow." 

"  Dear,  dear  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hone.  "  It's  always 
some  trouble  with  me,  —  first  one  thing,  and  then  another. 
But  I'm  sure  I  can't  blame  you,  Miss  Fanny ;  though,  if 
you  would  stay,  I  could  get  somebody  here  to-morrow  who 
told  me  he  could  soon  put  a  stop  to  all  such  troubles. 
But  I  hated  to  have  him  come  before,  because  I  knew  it 
would  make  so  much  talk  in  the  house,  and  make  the 
help  saucy.  Goodness  knows,  they're  unbearable  enough 
already ! " 

I  felt  sorry  for  the  landlady,  but  in  my  own  mind  fully 
resolved  to  leave  her  roof  as  soon  as  possible.  The  clock 
boomed  "four." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Hone  !  "  I  exclaimed,  struck  with  a  new 
fear,  "  I  have  left  uncle  all  this  time.  What  if  —  Oh,  will 
you  go  down  stairs  with  me  ?  I  can't  go  alone  !  " 

The  landlady  was  naturally  unwilling  to  run  any  further 
risk  of  disturbing  the  household,  and  tried  to  persuade  me 
not  to  go,  but  I  was  resolute. 

The  dear  old  man  lay  there  safely  enough  when  we 
entered  his  room  ;  but  his  sleep  was  heavy,  —  too  heavy, 
and  his  brow  was  burning  hot.  The  next  day  he  was 
worse  ;  and  when  I  asked  the  physician  concerning  him, 
the  reply  was,  — 

"  Oh !  it's  nothing  very  serious.  Perfect  quiet  for  a 
week  or  two,  and  careful  nursing,  are  all  that  will  be 
necessary." 

So  there,  of  course,  was  an  end  for  the  present  of  my 
plan  to  leave  the  house.  But  I  did  not  attempt  to  sleep 
in  my  apartment  again,  or  even  to  undress  at  all.  For 


154  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

four  nights  I  staid  in  the  sick-chamber,  resting  only  in  a 
large  armchair,  or  perhaps  indulging  in  a  brief  repose 
upon  the  lounge.  On  the  fifth  day  uncle  was  so  much 
better,  that,  unconscious  of  all  that  had  happened,  he 
insisted  upon  my  retiring  to  my  own  room  and  seeking 
rest.  Willing  to  relieve  his  anxiety,  and  being  really  very 
much  exhausted  from  continued  watching,  I  obeyed  ;  and 
in  a  few  moments  was  comfortably  reclining  on  a  sofa 
which  stood  near  the  window  across  the  corner  of  my 
room. 

That  pleasant  sunny  room  !  How  different  its  appear 
ance  was  now  from  what  it  had  been  less  than  a  week 
ago  !  Then  all  was  order  and  neatness  ;  and  the  mantle, 
toilet-table,  and  walls  had  been-  decked  with  various  taste 
ful  articles  and  engravings,  brackets  and  images.  Now 
the  walls  were  bare,  and  the  pictures  stood  on  the  floor, 
ready  to  be  taken  away  as  soon  as  uncle  should  be  able 
to  leave  the  house  (for  I  felt  confident  I  could  per 
suade  him  to  go),  and  the  little  knick-knacks  and  souve 
nirs  were  already  stowed  away  in  trunks.  The  curtains 
were  drawn  tastelessly  back  by  Betty's  ruthless  hand  ; 
and  on  the  furniture  lingered  a  peculiar  bloom,  —  neither 
cleanliness  nor  dirt,  —  left  by  the  housemaid's  duster. 
To  add  to  the  air  of  discomfort,  in  one  corner  stood  a  pile 
of  trunks  (which  had  been  noiselessly  packed  while  uncle 
slept)  ;  and  in  another,  lay  portions  of  a  dismembered 
bedstead  and  a  quantity  of  bedding,  which  the  landlady 
had  asked  permission  to  leave  there,  "  being  as  the  room 
wasn't  used." 

All  these  things  were  duly  noted  as  I  lay  there,  vainly 
courting  the  sleep  which  I  so  much  needed.  I  could 


MY  MYSTERIOUS  ENEMY.  155 

hear  my  uncle's  heavy  breathing  in  the  next  room,  and  the 
occasional  passing  of  footsteps  along/  the  hall,  as  the 
boarders  came  straggling  up  from  dinner.  It  was  no 
feverish  dream  then  that  possessed  me,  when  there,  in  the 
broad  daylight,  I  saw  the  detested  creature  who  had 
attacked  me  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  the  traces  of  whose 
diabolical  work  were  still  upon  my  temple,  cautiously 
enter  my  room,  and  gliding  slowly  and  stealthily  along, 
close  up  to  the  very  wainscot,  actually  secrete  himself 
under  the  bedding  in  the  corner ! 

Goaded  to  desperation,  I  leaped  from  the  couch,  and, 
scarce  conscious  of  what  I  was  doing,  flew  to  the  spot, 
and  seizing  a  small  bedpost  which  lay  there,  beat  with  all 
my  might  upon  the  place  where  I  believed  his  head  and 
breast  to  be  !  No  sound  escaped  him,  but  from  the  first 
stroke  I  felt  that  he  was  in  my  power.  Blow  after  blow 
fell ;  for  I  had  the  strength  of  a  maniac,  and  I  dared  not 
stop.  By  this  time  my  cries  were  heard,  and  the  landlady 
and  several  of  the  boarders  rushed  into  the  room.  They 
forced  me  into  a  seat,  and  lifted  the  bedding  from  the 
floor.  There  he  lay,  motionless  ;  they  turned  him  over  : 
he  was  dead  —  stone  dead  —  and  by  my  hand  ! 

"  By  Jove  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Williams,  the  strong  young 
man  from  the  fourth  story,  as  he  lifted  my  victim  from 
the  floor,  "  he  is  dead,  big  as  he  is.  How  did  you  ever 
find  courage  to  kill  him  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  hardly  know,"  I  gasped,  "  except  that  I 
was  desperate.  He  has  tormented  me  almost  to  death 
for  two  or  three  weeks  past,  and  last  Saturday  night  he 
actually  did  come  near  killing  me  in  earnest." 

"  How  ?  how  ?  "  cried  everybody  but  the  landlady, 
crowding  more  closely. 


1 56  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

The  good  lady  winked  prodigiously  at  me  just  then, 
and  tried  to  change  the  subject ;  but  I  was  too  excited  to 
heed  her.  Turning  with  a  shudder  from  the  lifeless  cause 
of  my  past  miseries,  I  explained  how  I  had  felt  a  natural 
antipathy  to  him  from  the  first  moment  I  had  encoun 
tered  him  in  the  hall  at  Mrs.  Hone's  ;  how  terrified  I  had 
been  when  I  saw  him  pass  through  the  reception-parlor 
where  I  sat  conversing  with  a  gentleman  ;  how  I  had  heard 
and  seen  him  several  times  since ;  how  he  actually  had 
dragged  a  letter  from  my  room  out  into  the  hall ;  and, 
above  all,  how  he  had  bitten  my  temple  on  that  fearful 
night.  I  had  just  raised  the  hair  carefully  from  my  brow 
to  show  my  audience  the  still  unhealed  traces  of  those 
cruel  teeth,  when  Biddy,  the  chamber-maid,  came  bustling 
in.  The  moment  she  saw  the  lifeless  body  she  shrieked, — 

"  Who  killed  him  ?  Not  you,  Miss  Fanny  !  I'd  have 
been  skeered  to  death.  I'm  glad  he's  dead,  any  how.  I 
told  you,  ma'am,"  she  added,  turning  to  Mrs.  Hone, 
"  twa'n't  no  use  tryin'  to  pizen  him.  We  couldn't  have 
had  no  peace  or  comfort  after  it  Then  all  his  relations 
would  be  comin'  to  the  funeral ;  and  "  — 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hone  angrily. 

Thus  tenderly  admonished,  Biddy  subsided,  only  mur 
muring  under  her  breath,  that  —  "  Massy  on  us  !  —  peo 
ple's  lives  hadn't  been  safe  with  a  critter  like  that  runnin' 
round  ; "  and  finally  uttering  a  piercing  shriek  as  the 
strong  young  man  lifted  IT  from  the  floor. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Hone's  son,  Fred,  burst  into  the 
room.  He  stopped  for  a  moment,  surveying  the  strange 
tableau.  There  was  I,  flushed  with  the  excitement  of  my 
exploit ;  Biddy,  angry  at  being  checked  in  her  voluble 


MY  MYSTERIOUS  ENEMY.  157 

exclamations,  and  shrinking  from  the  corpse  ;  Mrs.  Hone, 
severe  in  her  dignity  as  head  of  the  house,  glad  that  the 
dreadful  creature  was  destroyed,  yet  anxious  to  prevent 
any  talk  among  her  boarders ;  and  Mr.  Williams  holding 
up  the  dead  body  so  that  all  could  see  it. 

Master  Fred,  who,  being  six  years  my  junior,  was  my 
sworn  admirer,  and  hated  my  mysterious  foe  as  much  as  I 
did,  took  in  the  whole  affair  at  a  glance. 

"  You've  killed  him,  Miss  Fanny,  have  you  ? "  he  ex 
claimed.  "  Bully  for  you  !  He's  the  biggest  fellow  I 
ever  saw  !  '  A  rat,  dead  for  a  ducat,  dead  ! '  "  he  added, 
imitating  as  nearly  as  he  could  the  tone  and  attitude  of 
Edwin  Booth,  whom  he  had  seen  the  evening  before  in 
Hamlet,  pointing  at  the  dead  body  of  the  huge  rat  whom 
I  had  just  killed,  which  Mr.  Williams  was  handing  to  the 
shrinking  Biddy  to  be  duly  disposed  of. 

Possibly  the  reader  of  this  narrative  may,  like  my  Lord 
Hamlet,  have  taken  this  slaughtered  rat  for  "  his  better." 
If  so,  he  has  read  with  his  imagination  instead  of  his 
eyes  :  "  a  bad  habit ;  I  pray  you  avoid  it." 

I  have  only  to  add  here,  that  "  My  Mysterious  Enemy  " 
was  the  first  and  the  last  of  his  kind  that  ever  succeeded 
in  penetrating  into  the  immaculate  mansion  of  Mrs. 
Hone. 

'4 


WHAT  A  LITTLE  SONG 
CAN  DO. 

A  TRUE   INCIDENT. 


GAY  young  visitor  said  to  me  the  other  day: 

"  M ,  do  you  remember  that  little  English  girl, 

who  made  dresses  for  me  last  summer  ? " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  :  "  she  usually  worked  by  the  corner 
window  of  your  sitting-room  ;  a  delicate,  fair-haired  girl, 
wasn't  she  ?  seemed  to  be  a  rapid  sewer,  —  what  of  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  heard  her  story  lately,  a  terrible  story ;  and  do 
you  know,  it  seems  so  strange  to  think  that  during  all 
those  days,  when  she  used  to  sit  and  sew  for  me,  I  never 
once  thought  of  her  as  an  individual  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  She  never  appeared  to  me 
in  the  light  of  an  individual.  She  was  just  the  dress 
maker  ;  and  whenever  I  thought  of  her,  it  was  only  in 
connection  with  fashions  and  mantua-making.  I  remem 
ber  noticing,  sometimes,  that  the  sunshine  fell  brightly 
upon  her  head  as  she  sat  sewing,  and  that  she  had  a  shy, 
trembling  way  with  her.  But  it  never  occurred  to  me  that 
she  had  interests  apart  from  her  work,  —  personal  affairs 
158 


WHAT  A   LITTLE  SONG   CAN  DO.          159 

you  know,  such  as  you  and  I  have.  It's  awful  to  say  it, 
but  it's  really  true :  I  don't  believe  it  ever  crossed  my  mind 
that  she  cared  for  any  thing  but  making  dresses.  And 
oh  !  such  a  terrible  life  as  that  poor  girl  endured  !  She's 
dead  now ;  and  I'm  glad  of  it,  poor  thing.  Good-by !  " 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Lu  !  "  I  cried  :  "  what  a  strange  child 
you  are  !  You  surely  will  not  go  without  telling  me  more  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  must.  It's  time  for  my  music-lesson.  Good- 
by,  dear  :  I'll  come  again  soon  ; "  and  off  she  ran,  lightly 
humming  a  tune  as  she  hastened  down  the  stairway. 

I  have  not  seen  her  since,  or  I  should,  perhaps,  be  able 
to  tell  you  the  poor  sewing-girl's  story.  But  I  can  relate 
an  incident  that  came  vividly  to  my  mind,  even  before  the 
sound  of  Lu's  light,  receding  footsteps  had  died  away. 

One  lovely  day,  in  the  spring  of  187-,  I  made  a  start 
ling  discovery.  Just  when  the  fields  were  putting  on  their 
brightest  green,  and  the  fruit-trees  were  wreathing  them 
selves  with  blossoms,  I  suddenly  became  aware  that  I 
needed  raiment.  All  my  last  year's  stock  seemed  shabby 
in  contrast  with  the  vernal  freshness  of  things.  In  short, 
as  my  friend  Helen  Fitz  tenderly  hinted,  there  was  noth 
ing  left  me  but  either  to  look  like  a  fright  or  to  get  some 
new  dresses. 

Then  arose  a  new  trouble :  the  mantua-makers  were  in 
the  height  of  their  busy  season.  Not  one  could  I  find 
who  would  take  in  another  order.  What  was  I  to  do  ? 
The  Flora  McFlimsy  within  me  grew  faint.  If  I  should 
make  the  dress  myself,  it  wouldn't  have  a  particle  of  style. 
So  my  best  friends  assured  me,  with  a  mysterious  shudder 
which  made  me  feel  only  too  thankful  that  my  humble 
aspiration  had  been  nipped  in  the  bud. 


160  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

(All  this  time  Nature  was  laughing  with  her  blossoms, 
and  slipping  so  softly  and  easily  into  her  new  spring 
dress !) 

Well,  the  only  plan  open  to  me  was  to  employ  a  visit 
ing  mantua-maker.  After  what  seemed,  at  the  time,  an 
endless  succession  of  vexations  and  disappointments,  I 
succeeded  in  hearing  of  that  rara  avis,  —  a  dressmaker 
who  not  only  could  but  would  make  a  dress,  —  a  visiting 
dressmaker,  and  a  "  perfect  treasure  "  as  Helen  declared, 
such  a  "good  hand  at  conjuring,"  could  "fit  "  admirably: 
her  only  fault  was  that  she  was  slow.  If  I  could  stand 
that,  Mrs.  Bond  was  the  very  person  I  wanted  ;  and,  won 
derful  to  relate,  she  had  a  few  disengaged  days.  So  I 
sent  a  messenger,  and  received  word  in  return  that  she 
would  be  with  me  early  on  Monday  morning. 

Was  I  satisfied  then  ?  Not  quite.  A  strange  unrest 
came  over  me  ;  an  unrest  that  increased  as  the  interval 
of  waiting  diminished. 

To  make  this  thing  clear,  I  must  confess  that  I  am  of  a 
peculiar  temperament.  Employees  of  all  kinds  hold  a 
mysterious  power  over  me.  I  shrink  from  my  waiter-girl, 
and  feel  condemned  in  the  presence  of  my  cook.  Some 
times  I  am  almost  tempted  to  say,  "  Excuse  me,  Ann  ; 
forgive  me,  Kitty.  It's  not  entirely  my  fault  that  some 
must  work  while  others  play.  I  know  you  are  far  more 
clever  at  washing  windows,  ironing,  and  cooking  than  I 
should  be.  I  never,  in  the  world,  could  'wait'  at  table, 
or  answer  the  door-bell  as  patiently  and  cheerfully  as  you. 
I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  have  the  fortitude  to  rise  before 
daylight,  on  snowy  winter  mornings,  and  attend  early  mass 
before  commencing  a  hard  day's  work.  I'm  not  sure  that 


WHAT  A  LITTLE  SONG  CAN  DO.          l6l 

I  could  deny  myself  as  you  do,  in  order  to  send  money 
across  the  water  to  bring  my  cousins  over.  In  short,  Ann 
and  Kitty,  if  life  seems  hard  to  you,  if  my  kitchen  is 
dreary,  and  my  visitors  too  many,  forgive  me,  bear  with 
me.  You  might,  either  of  you,  have  been  a  poor,  helpless 
lady  yourself,  you  know." 

The  same  feeling  comes  when  with  those  who,  higher 
in  the  social  scale,  still  serve  me ;  for  all  mankind  are, 
after  all,  servants  in  some  sense.  I  always  submit  my 
pulse  deprecatingly  to  my  physician,  fearful  lest  my  case 
be  too  unimportant  for  so  august  a  personage ;  wonder 
what  I  should  do  if  I  had  to  consult  a  lawyer ;  and  in 
church  I  sometimes  feel  so  crestfallen  and  ashamed,  that, 
if  the  sexton  were  not  so  very  like  the  Lord  Chamberlain 
in  suppressed  greatness  and  noiseless  sublimity,  I  would, 
during  the  service,  ask  him  to  step  up  to  the  pulpit,  and 
tell  Dr.  Blast,  that,  if  my  particular  case  of  sinfulness 
aggravated  him,  I  would  willingly  get  up  and  go  home. 

Even  shopmen  are  formidable  creatures  in  my  eyes. 
When  at  Stewart's,  I  never  can  throw  off  the  impression 
that  the  clerk  who  is  waiting  upon  me  owns  the  entire 
establishment.  But  all  this  is  nothing  to  the  appalling 
influence  of  fashionable  milliners  and  dressmakers.  Only 
the  thought  of  the  lilies  of  the  field  can  sustain  me  when 
in  their  presence. 

What  wonder,  then,  that  I  dreaded  this  particular  Mon 
day  ?  It  came,  all  the  same,  however ;  and  when,  just 
before  breakfast,  the  door-bell  rang,  Ann,  who  answered 
the  summons,  was  a  grander,  lighter-hearted  young  woman 
than  her  mistress,  who  stood  in  an  upper  room  bracing 
herself  to  meet  the  coming  presence. 
14* 


1 62  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

In  a  moment  Ann  came  up,  saying  mysteriously,  "  She's 
down-stairs,  mum,  and  she's  had  her  breakfast.  My !  but 
she's  the  quare-looking  old  crayture,  though !  " 

"  Show  her  up,  Ann." 

She  entered,  —  a  quiet-looking,  mild  old  woman  of 
seventy ! 

I  had  not  expected  this.  Fancy  had  conjured  a  dressy, 
fussy  young  person,  with  a  manner  as  quick  and  snipping 
as  her  scissors,  and  a  roll  of  fashion-plates  in  her  hand, 
—  somebody  with  an  iron  will,  who  knew  the  exact  size 
that  a  lady's  waist  ought  to  be,  lungs  or  no  lungs. 

But  this  quiet,  sober  old  body,  clad  in  dingy  black,  how 
could  I  ask  her  to  make  up  my  finery  ? 

"  Good-morning.  Is  this  Mrs.  Bond  ?  "  I  asked,  half 
hoping  that  it  was  not. 

"  I  believe  it  is,"  she  answered,  with  a  pleasant  smile, 
taking  off  her  shawl  and  bonnet  as  she  spoke,  and  ad 
justing  her  spectacles  carefully,  so  as  not  to  tear  her 
simple  white  cap.  "  Shall  I  sit  here,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly ! "  and  somehow,  before  I  knew  it, 
the  old  lady  was  cutting  out  a  lining,  and  I  was  up-stairs 
again  (after  having  taken  a  hasty  breakfast),  and  seated 
near  her,  running  up  the  breadths  of  a  skirt,  every  thing 
just  as  easy  and  natural  as  possible. 

Yes,  she  was  slow ;  but  I  think  it  was  because  she  took 
so  much  interest  in  her  work  that  she  rather  lingered  over 
it.  It  was  wonderful  to  see  how  she  would  turn  a  refrac 
tory  bit  of  goods  this  way  and  that,  until  at  last  it  would 
fit  in  exactly  where  it  was  needed ;  wonderful  to  see  her 
stitch,  stitch,  in  such  a  steady,  resolute  way,  and  all  the 
time  with  that  placid  expression  on  her  face,  her  wrinkled 


WHAT  A   LITTLE  SONG   CAN  DO.  163 

little  mouth  pursed  up,  and  her  gray  eyebrows  arching 
mildly  over  her  spectacles. 

About  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  without  looking 

up  from  her  work,  she  said,  "  Mrs.  D ,  would  it  be 

asking  too  much  if  I  wanted  a  cup  of  tea  at  lunch-time  ? 
It  keeps  me  awake  for  the  afternoon,  and  I  can  do  better 
justice  to  the  work." 

Awake  for  the  afternoon  !     Poor  old  soul ! 

"  Certainly !  not  at  all !  "  I  exclaimed,  in  a  startled  way. 
"  We  always  have  tea  at  luncheon  ;  but,  whether  or  not, 
you  should  have  it  and  welcome.  Why  not  lie  down  a 
while,  though  ?  Please  do.  Rest  yourself,  now,  on  that 
lounge." 

"  Oh !  no,  no,  indeed  !  thank  you  !  "  and  she  laughed, 
a  quiet,  sober  little  laugh,  with  a  tear  in  it.  "  The  tea'll 
keep  me  up  now,  ma'am,"  she  added  cheerily:  "if  you'll 
please  get  ready  to  try  on,  I'll  be  through  in  a  minute." 

She  staid  with  me  for  three  days,  working  steadily  and 
slowly  all  the  time,  kept  awake  by  the  tea,  and  resolutely 
resisting  my  entreaties  that  she  should  take  an  occasional 
nap.  One  peculiarity  puzzled  me.  On  several  occasions, 
when,  after  a  brief  absence,  I  entered  the  room,  I  saw  her 
quietly  slip  something  into  a  little  covered  basket,  which 
sat  on  the  floor  beside  her,  and  resume  her  work  as  I 
approached.  Otherwise,  she  sewed  as  steadily  as  though 
she  were  moved  by  slow  machinery. 

But  if  Ann  and  Kitty  awoke  apologetic  emotions  within 
me,  how  much  more  this  patient,  silver-haired  old  lady. 
I  could  scarcely  bear  to  see  her  working  for  me ;  and  it 
was  only  by  planning  various  trifling  benefits  for  her  that 
I  could  feel  in  any  way  reconciled  to  it.  She  was  so  old, 


164  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

poor  soul !  and  yet  she  so  firmly  thrust  away  the  infirmi 
ties  of  age,  as  if  saying  constantly  to  herself,  "That's 
right  —  back,  keep  straight;  eyes,  keep  strong;  fingers, 
keep  nimble,  for  I  have  this  dress  to  make." 

Ah  !  if  trouble  were  to  come  upon  her,  I  thought,  a  real, 
heart-rending  sorrow,  she  could  not  be  like  this.  For  it  so 
happened  that  I  had  one  great  trial  to  bear,  and  I  knew 
what  important  allies  were  youth  and  strength.  But  I  did 
not  understand  her  yet. 

On  the  third  day  —  I  hardly  can  say  how  it  came  about 
—  she  told  me  the  story  of  her  life,  or  rather  it  seemed  to 
slip  from  her  as  the  work  slipped  through  her  fingers; 
and  what  a  life  it  was !  Trial  upon  trial,  sorrow  upon 
sorrow ;  prosperity  at  first,  then  misfortune  and  poverty ; 
then  sixteen  years  of  married  life,  and  three  or  four  little 
graves ;  sickness  ;  the  prop  of  the  home  smitten  down,  a 
helpless  invalid ;  then  widowhood,  with  four  children  to 
support  and  educate  ;  next,  one  of  the  children  a  hopeless 
cripple  —  labor,  ceaseless  labor ;  then  sorrow  and  trouble 
in  a  married  daughter's  misfortune  ;  then  her  two  daugh 
ters  widowed  and  in  delicate  health,  and  with  several 
young  children,  all  upon  her  hands,  she  their  only  help  and 
refuge  !  Her  youngest,  an  only  son,  she  had  bravely  edu 
cated  through  it  all.  He  had  finally  joined  the  Union 
army,  without  a  word  of  opposition  from  her.  At  that 
very  moment  he  might  be  lying  wounded  on  the  battle 
field,  or  his  bones  might  be  gathered  in  some  nameless 
grave,  for  she  had  not  heard  from  him  for  months.  And 
there  had  I  been  consulting  with  her  about  my  sleeves ! 

"  And  you  support  them  all,  —  children  and  grandchil 
dren  ? "  I  asked,  making  believe  to  search  for  a  spool  of 
cotton,  for  I  felt  too  fidgety  to  sew. 


WHAT  A   LITTLE  SONG   CAN  DO.          165 

"  Yes,  deary,  mostly  "  (she  had  given  me  this  name  on 
the  second  day).  "  Annie's  laid  up  with  her  side  most  of 
the  time  ;  and  what  with  grieving,  and  taking  charge  of 
the  little  ones  while  I'm  off  workin ',  poor  Esther  don't 
earn  much,  though  she's  a  fur-maker  by  trade.  Now, 
ma'am,  I'm  ready  for  this  shoulder  again." 

(How  blithely  she  spoke  !  I  had  been  rather  low- 
spirited  of  late,  —  I  with  my  one  illumined  sorrow,  she 
with  her  load  of  crowding  cares) !  As  soon  as  the  shoul 
der  was  arranged,  I  went  into  the  entry  to  speak  with 
Kitty  concerning  dinner.  When  I  re-opened  the  door  I 
saw  that  mysterious  movement  again.  My  dressmaker 
was  slipping  something  into  her  basket. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  with  a  slight  jump,  "what  a  little 
thing  starts  me  !  I  was  just  reading  my  little  song." 

"  Your  little  song  ?  " 

"  Yes  :  it's  a  bit  of  writing  I've  had  four  or  five  years,  the 
greatest  comfort  of  my  life  ;  almost,"  and  she  lowered  her 
voice,  "  like  my  Bible.  It  kept  me  up  when  I  do  believe 
nothing  else  would." 

She  said  this  in  such  a  cheery  way,  while  picking  out 
the  basting-threads,  that  I  hardly  knew  how  to  reply.  But 
at  last  I  said,  stupidly  enough,  — 

"  Don't  you  ever  get  sick,  Mrs.  Bond  ?  " 

"  No,  not  often  ;  leastwise,  not  enough  to  make  me  lose 
my  day.  Thank  you,  deary,  I'll  go  on  with  that  sleeve  if 
you  hain't  finished  it,  and  you  can  take  up  the  cording." 

"  It's  wonderful,"  I  said,  tacitly  following  her  direction, 
"  really  wonderful,  to  think  of  your  supporting  all  your 
family  so,  and  on  two  dollars  a  day." 

"  Sometimes  I  do  wonder,"  she  said  quietly,  "  how  I  do 


1 66  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

it ;  but  God  helps  us,  and  then,  you  know,  I  have  my  little 
song.     I'll  take  them  black  hooks,  please." 

We  sat  silently  working  for  a  few  moments.  At  last  I 
said,  softly  and  reverently,  — 

f '  Mrs.  Bond,  will  you  teach  me  your  little  song  ? " 

She  looked  up  with  a  surprised  —  "  What,  deary  ?  " 

"  That  little  song  you  were  speaking  of.  It  would  do 
me  good,  too,  I  am  sure.  Will  you  teach  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  You,  child  !  You  don't  need  it,  —  young,  bright,  and 
happy.  It's  only  for  tired  old  bodies  like  me." 

"  Ah  !  but  perhaps  I  do,"  I  persisted  :  "  life  is  very  vex 
ing  to  me  sometimes." 

She  bent  down,  and,  lifting  her  little  basket,  slowly 
raised  the  lid,  then  took  out  a  folded  piece  of  paper,  worn 
and  dingy.  She  opened  it  tenderly  as  she  handed  it  to 
me. 

"  This  is  my  little  song,  deary.  I  know  all  it  says  ;  but 
it  always  helps  me  to  read  it,  especially  when  things  comes 
into  my  mind  that  oughtn't  too." 

I  had  expected  to  find  one  of  the  sweet  old  hymns  that 
tell  of  comfort  and  joy  to  come,  as  a  reward  for  sorrow 
suffered  here.  But  the  verses  that  I  saw  surprised  me. 

"  Where  did  you  find  this  poem  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  didn't  find  it.  The  Lord  sent  it  to  me  sort  of  mys 
terious.  A  young  girl  read  it  out  once  in  a  room  where  I 
was  sewing ;  and  when  I  had  a  chance,  I  asked  her  to  write 
it  down  for  me.  I  don't  take  to  such  things,  gen'rally ; 
but  this  song  is  kind  o'  by  itself." 

And  so  it  was.  For  the  poem  was  Adelaide  Procter's 
"  One  by  One." 

"  I  have  a  whole  book  of  verses  written  by  the  same 


WHAT  A   LITTLE  SONG   CAN  DO.          167 

lady,"  I  said,  still  looking  at  the  paper  :  "  shall  I  bring 
it,  and  read  you  a  few  of  them  ?  " 

"  No,  deary,  I  thank  you  kindly ;  but  most  like  I 
wouldn't  understand  'em.  This  little  song'll  last  me  out 
well  enough.  As  you're  looking  at  it,  deary,  would  you 
mind  saying  it  for  me  out  loud  ?  " 

For  the  first  time  during  our  conversation,  she  laid  down 
her  work,  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  while  I  read  in  a 
voice  that  tried  not  to  tremble  :  — 

"  One  by  one  the  sands  are  flowing, 
One  by  one  the  moments  fall ; 
Some  are  coming,  some  are  going, 
Do  not  strive  to  grasp  them  all. 

"  One  by  one  thy  duties  wait  thee, 

Let  thy  whole  strength  go  to  each ; 
Let  no  future  dreams  elate  thee, 

Learn  thou  first  what  these  can  teach. 

"  One  by  one  (bright  gifts  from  heaven), 

Joys  are  sent  thee  here  below  ; 
Take  them  readily  when  given, 
Ready,  too,  to  let  them  go. 

"  One  by  one  thy  griefs  shall  meet  thee, 

Do  not  fear  an  armed  band  ; 
One  will  fade  as  others  greet  thee, 
Shadows  passing  through  the  land. 

"  Do  not  look  at  life's  long  sorrow  ; 

See  how  small  each  moment's  pain  ; 
God  will  help  thee  for  to-morrow, 
So  each  day  begin  again. 

"  Every  hour  that  fleets  so  slowly 

Has  its  task  to  do  or  bear ; 
Luminous  the  crown  and  holy, 
If  thou  set  each  gem  with  care. 


168  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  Do  not  linger  with  regretting, 

Or  for  passing  hours  despond ; 
Nor,  the  daily  toil  forgetting, 
Look  too  eagerly  beyond. 

"  Hours  are  golden  links,  God's  token, 
Reaching  heaven  ;  but  one  by  one 
Take  them,  lest  the  chain  be  broken 
Ere  the  pilgrimage  be  done.'' 

I  looked  up.  Mrs.  Bond  was  busily  sewing,  her  "  whole 
strength "  going  to  the  present  duty,  her  little  wrinkled 
mouth  pursed  intently  as  usual,  her  gray  eyebrows  arched 
mildly  above  her  spectacles,  and  her  sweet  old  face  more 
placid  than  ever. 

Adelaide  Procter  is  with  the  angels  now.  The  tumult 
of  this  busy  world  shall  never  more  disturb  her.  But  she 
is  a  gladder,  more  blessed  angel,  we  may  be  sure,  when 
ever  that  dear  old  woman  reads  her  little  song. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  WATER 
FALL. 


A  HUSBAND'S  STORY. 


)LLA  M'FLIMSEY  was  cousin  to  the  world- 
renowned  Flora,  but  she  was  a  better  girl.  Fair, 
stylish,  coquettish,  with  bewitching  blue  eyes, 
and  hair  of  the  fashionable  golden  hue,  she  was  the  pride 
and  glory  of  our  set.  I  had  gazed  upon  her,  given  her 
smile  for  smile,  and  more  ;  had  attended  her  through 
scores  of  "  Germans,"  and  gone  to  paradise  with  her  on 
the  wings  of  the  Redowa.  Her  very  fans  and  gloves  were 
daguerrotyped  on  my  soul.  Yet,  looking  back,  I  cannot 
remember  that  I  had  ever  heard  her  seriously  give  an 
opinion,  or  utter  even  a  sentiment  to  reveal  of  what 
manner  of  woman  she  was.  As  for  her  daily  life,  all  that 
could  be  known  to  me  was  that  she  flourished  in  the  "  best 
circles,"  and  in  every  way  comported  herself  as  became 
an  unmurmuring  child  of  fashion.  I,  a  busy  bee  all  day 
and  a  butterfly  at  evening,  found  my  flower  under  the  gas 
light  ;  and,  under  the  gaslight  I  hovered  about  her,  en 
chanted,  yet  not  quite  satisfied.  Some  ruthless  spell 

169 


170  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

seemed  to  hang  over  her  beauty.  Face  and  form  were 
perfect.  Her  hair,  too,  ah,  how  lovely  it  was  !  and  yet, 
even  in  its  sunny  meshes  the  demon  of  —  shall  I  say  it  ?  — 
of  ugliness  seemed  to  lurk.  "  Sunny  meshes  "  hardly 
describes  it  —  ah,  sunny  maze  !  Yes,  a  sunny  maze  over 
her  temples  ;  and  beyond  that  —  ?  But  it  was  beautiful 
hair  —  that  I  said  to  myself  a  hundred  times.  What, 
then,  was  the  mystery?  Something  within  me  recoiled 
even  while  I  admired  most  ardently  ;  and  she,  poor  child  ! 
seeing  my  waywardness,  wondered  (I  knew  it  in  spite  of 
her  well-trained,  beautiful  eyes)  —  wondered  and  grew 
serious  —  between  dances. 

Alas !  we  knew  not  the  direful  spell  that  had  been  cast 
upon  us !  But  the  end  came  at  last.  Now  that  all  is 
over,  I  am  vexed  that  I  did  not  in  some  way  take  trouble 
by  the  forelock,  and  grapple  with  it  single-handed.  But  I 
have  said  I  wooed  as  a  butterfly  flits  about  a  flower. 
Do  butterflies  think  ?  When  an  ugly  blight  threatens  a 
peerless  blossom,  what  can  her  Papilio  do  but  hover 
wretchedly  overhead  ? 

One  stormy  December  night  (she  has  told  me  all  about 
it  since)  my  poor  Ella,  returning  from  a  brilliant  "  recep 
tion,"  sought  her  chamber  puzzled  and  unhappy.  Almost 
in  tears,  she  flung  jewel  after  jewel  upon  her  dressing- 
table,  jerked  the  drooping  flowers  from  her  hair,  and 
loosed  the  glittering  zone,  which,  it  had  seemed  to  me, 
was  all  that  kept  the  gauzy  clouds  trailing  about  her  from 
floating  away  into  the  air.  Then  came  more  arduous 
toilet  undoings  ;  there  were  curls  —  two  long,  golden, 
beautiful  curls  —  then  braids  —  then  a  golden  mass  of 
wealth,  and  then  the  maze  !  But  why  speak  of  these.  She 


SPIRIT  OF  THE   WATERFALL.  1 7 1 

was  sad  —  she,  my  matchless  flower,  my  pearl !  Ah  !  if  I 
could  have  seen  her  then,  seen  her  earnest,  but  an  instant, 
perhaps  —  but  no.  The  spell  was  not  yet  broken. 

It  had  been  a  brilliant  evening.  Even  Cousin  Flora 
had  pronounced  the  affair  "faultless."  The  Harrises,  the 
Van  Doodles,  everybody  in  town,  —  that  is,  everybody 
worth  knowing,  — had  been  present ;  and  Ella  had  stood 
acknowledged  belle  of  the  hour.  But  it  had  been  the 
same,  or  nearly  the  same,  every  night  for  weeks  and 
weeks.  She  was  weary.  It  may  be  her  soul  was  asking 
"  Is  it  well  ?  "  I  had  been  hovering  near  her,  as  usual, 
fascinated,  yet  secretly  dissatisfied ;  and  she,  in  some 
strange  way,  had  felt  slighted  and  distressed,  though  she 
must  have  known  that  at  least  a  dozen  among  those  who 
looked  upon  her  were  longing  to  cast  their  fate  and 
fortune  at  her  feet.  Ah  !  it  is  a  cruel  problem  this  of  life. 
It  should  know  better  than  to  force  itself  upon  a  gay,  sin 
less  girl.  With  a  sigh,  Ella,  after  dimming  the  gaslight, 
put  on  a  long,  soft  robe  of  wadded  cashmere,  and  cast 
herself  in  a  big  armchair  by  the  fire.  Dear  little  blossom  ! 
Did  the  great  senseless  thing  know  what  it  held,  I  wonder? 

How  plainly  I  can  see  her  sitting  there,  in  the  flickering 
firelight,  wfth  that  new  sadness  on  her  face.  The  lofty 
room,  with  its  curtains,  its  frescoed  panels,  its  carvings  of 
dull,  dark  wood,  its  dainty  work-stand  rarely  used,  its 
costly  rack  of  books  never  opened,  its  delicate  traceries 
of  gold,  its  soft,  harmonious  colors,  its  toilet-table  (a  mar 
vel  of  lace  with  rosy  draperies  blushing  through),  —  all 
these  were  quite  familiar  to  me  ;  for  the  apartment  had 
sometimes  done  duty  as  "  the  gentlemen's  dressing-room," 
and  afterward  that  very  armchair  became  —  But  I  must 
not  anticipate. 


1/2  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

How  long  Ella's  reverie  continued  she  cannot  remem 
ber.  It  was  broken  at  last  by  a  sharp  sense  of  dread. 
Her  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  the  toilet-table.  Fascinated 
by  its  cloud-like  canopy  and  curtain,  where  pink  and 
white  seemed  floating  together  in  airy  softness,  with  here 
and  there  a  bright  gleam  from  the  fire  deepening  its  hue, 
she  had  wondered  whether  the  effect  might  not  be  some 
thing  like  the  "  early  dawn "  that  travellers  talk  about, 

—  when  suddenly  its  curtain  was  stirred  ! 

What  could  it  mean  ?  There  was  not  space  enough 
under  there  for  a  robber  to  stow  himself.  Her  pet  spaniel 
she  knew  was  already  sound  asleep  in  the  housekeeper's 
room.  Cats  and  kittens  were  forbidden  the  house  ;  but  it 
might  possibly  be  that  some  vagrant  puss  had  stolen  in 
during  the  day. 

Even  this  solution  almost  paralyzed  her  with  fear. 
After  all,  it  might  be  merely  fancy. 

With  a  half-smile  at  her  weakness,  she  sat  upright,  and 
looked  steadily  at  the  offending  drapery.  It  stirred  again 

—  not  feebly  this  time  ;  but  with  a  quick,  resolute  move 
ment  —  stirred  and  parted  ! 

A  bouncing  little  figure  stepped  forth. 

"  Blaze  up,  Fire  !  "  said  the  little  figure,  "  and  let  the 
lady  see  me." 

Instantly  the  fire  sent  out  frisky  jets  of  flame. 

"  That's  right,"  said  the  figure  jauntily.  "  Now,  am  I 
not  a  beauty  ?  " 

A  beauty  ?  It  was  the  ugliest  of  all  ugly  gnomes,  gob 
lins,  or  whatever  one  might  choose  to  call  it.  It  was 
short,  stumpy,  of  a  dingy  brown,  and  made  entirely  of 
matted  hair  I  Even  its  arms  were  of  the  same  material ; 


SPIRIT  OF  THE    WATERFALL.  173 

and  its  eyes  were  formed  of  rings  of  white  and  black 
hair,  with  the  light  of  a  golden  curl  shining  through  them. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  gasped  my  poor  girl,  ready  to  faint. 

"  Who  am  I  ?  "  pertly  replied  the  figure  :  "  why,  one  of 
your  friends  to  be  sure.  My  name  is  Sheniona.  I'm  the 
Spirit  of  the  Waterfall  !  " 

"  Oh,  oh  !     Go  away  !  "  shrieked  Ella. 

"  All  in  good  time,  my  dear,"  said  the  visitor  coaxingly ; 
"  all  in  good  time.  Now,  don't  be  frightened  in  that  foolish 
way.  I'm  sure  I  expected  a  different  reception  from  you. 
But  never  mind  that.  Business  is  business,  you  know. 
If  I  hadn't  had  business  I  would  have  staid  away  — 
though,  really,  who  would  have  dreamed  that  you  could 
hate  me  so,  seeing  that "  —  and  Sheniona  nodded  signifi 
cantly  toward  the  toilet-table. 

Ella  was  gradually  becoming  less  alarmed  :  there  was 
a  saucy,  friendly  air  about  the  Spirit,  that  was  rather  win 
ning  after  all ;  so  she  ventured  to  ask  timidly,  — 

"  What  business  ?  " 

"Well,  my  dear,  business  of  rather  an  embarrassing 
nature,  if  you  must  know.  (Brighten  up,  Fire  !)  The 
fact  is,  though  I  seem  such  a  plucky,  self-reliant  Spirit,  I 
am  really  somewhat  dependent  upon  others.  In  short,  if 
it  were  not  for  others,  I  couldn't  be  the  beauty  that  I  often 
am.  (Now,  Fire,  don't  be  lazy !)  I'm  Queen  of  them  all, 
and  they  know  it.  Every  one  bows  to  the  Spirit  of  the 
Waterfall.  But  you  see,  my  dear,  sometimes  those  who 
have  been  forced  unconsciously  to  help  me  get  to  be  a 
little  troublesome  :  they  come  again  and  again,  pestering 
me  and  asking  for  '  their  own,'  as  they  call  it.  Even  when 
I  haven't  used  'em  a  bit  they  keep  whining  out,  '  It's  all 


1/4  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

your  fault  —  all  your  fault ! '  till  I'm  most  dead.  It's 
enough  to  put  me  all  out  of  tangle  —  it  really  is ;  "  and 
the  Spirit  struck  a  despondent  attitude. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Ella,  longing  to  make  a  rush  for  the 
door,  and  yet  not  daring  to  stir,  "  what's  all  this  to  me  ?  " 

The  Spirit  laughed  a  quick,  fuzzy  little  laugh. 

"  What's  it  to  you  ?  Well,  if  that  isn't  too  much  !  Why, 
it's  every  thing  to  you  (Fire,  don't  go  to  sleep,  please) 
• — every  thing  to  you  just  now,  I  mean.  The  fact  is, 
you've  got  something  that  don't  belong  to  you,  and  the 
owners  want  it. 

"  I  ? "  faltered  Ella,  "  I  ?  " 

"Yes,  you,"  answered  Sheniona,  with  an  encouraging 
nod.  "  Now,  don't  be  so  nervous.  Brush  up  ;  do  !  I've 
no  idea  of  calling  you  a  thief.  Neither  have  they.  Of 
course  you  haven't  intended  to  do  any  thing  wrong.  But 
they  want  '  their  own.'  They've  been  at  me  ever  so 
long  about  it  ;  and  at  last  I  thought  I'd  just  lay  the  matter 
before  you.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  WThat  do  I  say  ?  Oh,  yes !  take  it,  good  Sheniona, 
whatever  it  is,  and  go  home." 

"  Home ! "  echoed  Sheniona  scornfully,  but  in  a 
smothered  tone,  "  what  do  I  want  of  a  home  ?  My  object 
is  to  make  headway  in  the  world  ;  but  that's  nothing  here 
nor  there.  Besides  /  can't  take  it.  They  must  help 
themselves.  What  do  you  say,  —  yes,  or  no  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear !  y-yes,"  answered  Ella,  closing  her  eyes. 

"  Very  well.  That's  something  like.  Now,  good  people, 
you  may  come.  Fire  !  " 

This  last  ejaculation  was  not  a  military  order  to  the 
"  good  people,"  but  was  addressed  in  a  warning  "  aside  " 


SPIRIT  OF  7 HE    WATERFALL. 

to  the  members  from  Liverpool.  Accordingly  the  room 
grew  light  in  a  twinkling. 

Ella  tried  to  keep  her  eyes  shut,  but  they  opened  in 
spite  of  her.  In  every  corner  of  the  apartment  she  saw 
women  ;  not  exactly  ghostly  women,  —  though  they  could 
not  have  been  mortal,  since  neither  door  nor  window  had 
opened  to  admit  them,  —  but  women  very  different  from 
those  whom  she  was  in  the  habit  of  seeing ;  and  every 
one  of  them  was  looking  reproachfully  at  her. 

"Now,"  commanded  Sheniona,  in  an  injured  tone,  at 
the  same  time  collecting  something  from  the  toilet-table, 
and  throwing  it  into  Ella's  lap,  "  now  come  and  claim 
your  own." 

Ella  trembled.  As  the  women  slowly  approached,  she 
noticed  that  they  made  no  sound  as  they  walked,  and  that 
the  heads  of  nearly  all  of  them  were  closely  cropped. 
They  gathered  in  silent  groups  about  her,  casting  eager 
glances  upon  what  she  held  on  her  lap.  She  tried  to  rise, 
and  throw  the  coveted  things  upon  the  floor  ;  but  she  was 
powerless. 

Suddenly  one  of  the  women,  a  worn,  dark-browed  crea 
ture,  came  close  to  her,  and,  bending,  snatched  one  of  the 
articles.  It  was  a  curl  (  yes,  one  of  the  very  curls  that  I 
had  seen  drooping  upon  Ella's  bosom  that  evening !). 

"  This  is  mine  !  "  she  cried  fiercely. 

"  Yours  !  "  sneered  Sheniona,  "  what  did  you  ever  do 
with  that,  you  old  raven  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  did  with  it.  I  held  it  to  my  heart 
a  thousand  times  with  the  only  thing  I  loved  on  earth.  I 
kissed  it  night  and  day.  I  stroked  it  on  my  poor,  toil- 
stiffened  fingers  until  some  of  its  gold  seemed  to  light  up 


I  ?6  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

my  soul.  It  was  like  a  chain  leading  me  to  heaven. 
But  harder  times  came.  I  couldn't  get  any  work.  I  sold 
clothes,  furniture,  every  thing  I  had,  to  keep  her,  my  little 
one,  from  starving,  —  every  thing  went  but  my  wedding- 
ring  and  her  hair.  The  wedding-ring  went  first ;  then  her 
beautiful  curls,  —  yes,  I  curled  them  even  when  we  were 
crying  with  hunger,  —  but  it  was  all  of  no  use.  She  died. 
But  she's  not  starving  now  —  thank  God  for  that !  Not 
cold  either ;  but  I  can't  find  her  —  I  can't  see  her.  She 
went  where  I  can't  go  yet.  But  I  know  this  is  one  of 
her  curls,  and  I  must  have  it.  That  other  one  isn't  mine. 
Where  are  the  rest  ?  "  turning  fiercely  to  Sheniona. 

"  Never  mind  now  about  the  rest,  my  good  woman. 
They're  not  here,  that's  plain.  Begone  !  " 

The  woman,  pressing  the  curl  to  her  lips,  moved  away, 
and  Ella  saw  her  no  more. 

"  Who  does  the  other  curl  belong  to  ? "  cried  Sheniona. 
"  Move  quickly  now.  Don't  be  all  night  about  it." 

At  these  words  four  young  girls  stepped  forward.  One 
of  them  lifted  the  curl ;  and,  without  a  word,  they  began 
rapidly  to  untwist  it.  Each  with  busy  fingers  drew  out 
strand  after  strand  ;  and  when  it  was  all  divided  they 
vanished  with  their  treasure. 

"  Humph !  "  exclaimed  Sheniona,  "  if  that's  all,  you'll 
be  bothering  me  a  good  while  before  you  can  recover  your 
headfuls.  (A  plague  to  these  fellows  with  their  '  sorting ' 
and  'lengthening,'  and  so  scattering  one  lot  of  hair  to 
every  corner  of  the  earth  !  )  Ah,  you  thief  ! " 

Ella  looked  up  quickly. 

"  No,  not  you.  I'm  speaking  to  that  thing  who  just 
grabbed  a  braid.  She's  a  thief  and  a  murderer." 


SPIRIT  OF  THE    WATERFALL.  1 77 

"  I  know  it,"  sullenly  retorted  a  woman  who  now  stood 
pulling  and  shaking  out  the  braid.  "  I  was  as  bad  as  the 
worst.  Why  not  ?  Who  had  any  mercy  for  me  ?  They 
cut  off  my  hair  in  prison.  Yes,  a  thief  and  a  murderer. 
But  who  was  any  better  ?  They  murdered  me  on  a  scaf 
fold  ;  and  they  stole  my  hair.  It  was  the  only  bright 
thing  I  ever  had.  "  It's  mine,  and  I  want  it ! " 

"Well,  well,  not  so  much  noise,  old  jail-bird.  Who 
says  you  can't  have  it  ?  " 

"  She's  said  it ! "  retorted  the  woman,  looking  savagely 
at  Ella.  "  She's  claimed  it  for  her  own,  and  you  wouldn't 
let  me  come.  Haven't  I  seen  her  many  a  time,  here,  in 
this  very  room,  smooth  it  and  braid  it  as  if  God  had  given 
it  to  her.  Yes  ;  and  haven't  I  seen  her  carrying  it  about 
in  gay  ball-rooms,  among  splendid  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
with  their  flowers  and  jewels  and  scents, — the  very  hair 
that  I  used  to  trail  in  the  dust  ?  Yes  ;  and  didn't  she 
twine  it  with  pearl,  and  didn't  I  see  a  man  who  danced 
with  her  put  a  white  rose-bud  in  it  once,  ha  !  ha  !  and  " — 

"Oh,  oh!  Stop  her,  Sheniona,"  cried  Ella  —  "stop 
her,  or  I  shall  go  mad  !  " 

The  woman,  scornfully  acknowledging  a  signal  from  the 
Spirit  of  the  Waterfall,  vanished  with  angry  mutterings. 

"  Mad  !  "  echoed  a  voice  ;  "  I  did  go  mad,  raving  mad, 
and  they  cut  off  my  locks,  — '  sunny  locks,'  he  used  to 
call  them.  But  that  was  when  I  lived  on  earth.  I'm  not 
mad  now,  and  "  —  seizing  another  braid  from  Ella's  lap, 
—  "I  want  my  hair." 

"  Not  mad  now,  eh  ?  "  said  the  Spirit  of  the  Waterfall. 
"  Any  one  would  think,  from  the  way  you  act,  that  you 
were  stark,  staring  mad." 


178  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  It's  the  sight  of  the  hair  does  it,"  returned  the  other 
mournfully,  and  in  a  gentler  tone.  "  The  hair  was  what 
he  always  praised  most." 

"Who  was  he?"  asked  Sheniona  with  some  interest. 
"  Was  he  a  barber  ?  » 

"No,  indeed,"  said  the  girl:  "he  was  a  soldier,  as 
handsome  and  brave  a  soldier  as  ever  breathed  —  noble 
and  good  too ;  but  you  can't  understand  any  thing  about 
that." 

"  That's  because  I'm  all  in  a  snarl,  perhaps,"  assented 
Sheniona  ironically. 

"But  you  can,"  turning  to  Ella.  "He  was  so  noble 
and  good ;  and  when  the  word  came  that  he  was  lying 
dead  on  the  field,  —  lying  all  mangled  and  trodden,  —  I 
couldn't  stand  it.  I  thought  I  should  never,  never  see 
him  again.  I  know  better  now.  But  this  hair  is  his  be 
cause  he  liked  it.  I  couldn't  rest  while  I  knew  it  was 
being  carried  about  by  others  in  the  bustling  world.  I 
died  soon  after  they  took  it.  Why  couldn't  they  lay  it  in 
my  grave  where  it  belonged  ?  Ah  !  if  you  knew  all,  my 
pretty  lady,  you  would  have  perished  sooner  than  have 
carried  my  poor  hair  into  gay  houses." 

"Yes,  yes,"  sobbed  Ella.  "O  Sheniona!  I've  been  so 
wicked,  so  dreadfully  wicked ;  but  it's  all  your  fault." 

"Oh,  certainly,  of  course  !  "  returned  Sheniona.  "You're 
just  like  all  the  rest.  Now,  ladies,  if  you'll  be  kind  enough 
to  divide  the  waterfall,  and  each  take  'your  own,'  we  can 
be  gone.  (Come,  Fire,  a  little  brighter  !  )  " 

The  Fire  obeyed.  Instantly  the  girl  who  had  been  a 
maniac  vanished  ;  the  rest  of  the  women  seized  the  golden 
waterfall  from  Ella's  unresisting  hands,  and  with  many 


SPIRIT  OF  THE   WATERFALL. 

struggles,  exclamations,  sighs,  and  sobs,  began  to  tear  it 
to  pieces,  and  pick  out  "their  own,"  hair  by  hair. 

What  strange-looking  creatures  they  were,  and  dressed 
in  what  motley  variety  of  costume  !  Some  of  them  had 
long,  wavy  tresses,  that  had  grown  out  since  they  had 
been  shorn  of  their  wealth  ;  but  most  of  them  were  closely 
cropped,  and  had  a  weird,  restless  look.  There  were 
pretty,  blue-eyed  Bohemian  girls  among  them,  dressed  in 
picturesque  attire ;  heavy  Dutch  lasses  with  great  wooden 
shoes,  that  now  made  a  strange,  unearthly  clatter  :  Swiss 
women  with  freckled  faces  and  high  caps  ;  and  two  Swed 
ish  sisters,  who  stamped  their  ghostly  feet  indignantly  to 
think  how  their  bright  locks  had  been  boiled  and  twisted 
and  baked. 

Some  seemed  to  have  died,  and  others  were  the  spirits 
of  the  living  ;  but  one  and  all  were  equally  eager.  Dur 
ing  their  rapid  work  they  cast  reproachful  words  or  bits  of 
personal  history  at  Sheniona,  and  sometimes  addressed 
themselves  to  Ella,  who,  with  clasped  hands  and  tearful 
eyes,  sat  wondering  —  a  throng  of  new  thoughts  and  reso 
lutions  rushing  into  her  soul.  Some  told  how  their  hair 
had  been  taken  off  in  illness ;  some  how  they  had  been 
forced  to  part  with  theirs  through  poverty ;  some  told  tales 
that  brought  a  burning  flush  to  Ella's  cheek ;  and  others 
confessed  that  when  they  were  working  in  the  fields  or  at 
household  duties,  the  hair-peddlers  came  along,  shears  in 
hand,  and  induced  them  to  allow  their  tresses  to  be  cut 
off  in  exchange  for  tawdry  trinkets.  Nearly  all  had  some 
thing  to  say ;  and  Ella  vaguely  wondered  that  their 
voices  seemed  so  lifelike  and  natural.  If  she  had  but 
thought  of  the  potent  influence  of  Sheniona,  she  would 


180  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

have  wondered  less.     Under  the  spell  of  the  Spirit  of  the 
Waterfall,  all  things  seem  real. 

One  of  the  Dutch  girls  turned  angrily  toward  Sheniona. 
"  What  does  this  mean  ?     I  find  only  four  hairs." 
"  It  means  that  only  four  hairs  of  all  your  headful  were 
fit  to  put  with  this  lot,"  was   the  answer.     "  It  was  nearly 
all  turned  to  flax.     How  did  you  fade  yourself  out  so  ?  " 

"Ah!"  said  the  jufvrouw,  "  my  hair  had  a  poor  chance. 
I  couldn't  wear  caps  all  the  time ;  but  I  had  one  for  Ker 
mis-days.  What,  with  tending  geese,  and  working  on  the 
polders,  and  picking  hemp  for  the  mills,  there  wasn't  much 
to  save  my  good  looks.  Blazing  sun  and  high  winds,  and 
the  heavy  breath  of  the  ditches,  don't  go  to  make  up  fine 
ladies.  Where  is  the  rest  of  my  hair  ?  "  i 

"Scattered  about  everywhere,  if  you  want  to  know," 
said  Sheniona:  "it  made  about  twenty  different  shades 
when  they  came  to  handle  and  assort  it.  Part  of  it  is  in  a 
set  of  side-curls  in  London,  part  in  a  lawyer's  '  scratch ' 
somewhere  in  Boston,  part  in  a  mustache  owned  by  a  New 
Yorker  who  is  always  dodging  the  detectives,  but  most  of 
it's  on  dolls." 
"Dolls?" 

"Yes,  dolls,  —  those  tow-headed,  wax  dolls.  I  shouldn't 
be  surprised  if  you  fitted  out  a  dozen  of  'em." 

"  I'll  find  it  all  yet,"  hissed  the  Dutch  lass  between  her 
teeth.  "  I'll  find  it  all  yet." 

"  Not  unless  you're  civil  you  wont.  Now,  good  people, 
don't  stand  all  night  disputing  over  one  hair  !  " 

The  scene  was  over  at  last.  The  "golden  mass  of 
wealth  "  had  dwindled  to  nothing.  One  by  one  the  women 
vanished.  The  fire  flickered  wildly,  and  Ella  was  once 
more  alone  with  Sheniona. 


SPIRIT  OF  THE   WATERFALL.  l8l 

"  Don't  cry,"  said  the  Spirit :  "  I've  not  deserted  you 
yet.  Tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  Nothing,  nothing  !  "  sobbed  Ella.  "  Only  leave  me, 
and  never,  never  come  near  me  again." 

"  Never !  "  repeated  Sheniona,  in  astonishment. 

"Never." 

"  Why,  you  will  look  like  a  fright." 

"  No,"  said  my  brave  little  Ella,  quite  herself  now.  "  I 
shall  not  look  like  a  fright.  I  am  not  bald.  But  for  your 
wicked  spells,  I  should  never  have  slighted  the  adornment 
Nature  had  already  given  me." 

"  Nature  !  "  sneered  the  Spirit,  with  intense  scorn. 

"It  is  you,  Sheniona,"  continued  Ella,  "who  all  these 
months  have  made  me  look  like  a  fright ;  you  who  have 
loaded  my  poor  head  till  it  ached ;  you  who  have  made  me 
almost  a  liar  and  a  cheat ;  you  who  have  made  me  wrong 
those  poor  women,  and  worry  them  in  their  graves ;  you 
who  "  — 

"Hold!  " cried  Sheniona,  now  in  a  great  passion.  "  You 
have  said  enough.  From  this  hour  I  am  done  with  you. 
Yes,  I  and  my  army  shall  withdraw  from  you  forever  ! " 

"  Your  army  !  " 

"  I  have  said  it.  —  Come  forth,  my  brave  followers  !  " 
cried  the  Spirit  of  the  Waterfall. 

Instantly  numerous  boxes  and  drawers  about  the  room 
flew  open ;  and  out  hopped  a  regiment,  it  seemed,  of  crimp 
ers  and  crinkling-pins.  These  were  marshalled  by  a  num 
ber  of  puffy  officers,  brevetted  "  rats  "  and  "  coils ;  "  while 
conspicuous  among  them  stalked  a  stately  pair  of  curling- 
tongs. 

"  This  way  !  "  commanded  the  Spirit  turning  savagely 
about.  l6 


182  THEOPH1LUS  AND  OTHERS. 

She  marched  toward  the  fireplace ;  her  army  followed 
in  rattling  procession.  At  the  hearth  she  stepped  upon 
the  pan.  From  the  pan  she  hopped  upon  the  bars.  From 
the  bars  she  sprang  into  the  blaze  ;  and  in  the  b?aze  she 
vanished,  army  and  all. 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  She's  gone  !  "  cried  Ella,  starting 
up.  "  But  what  a  dreadful  odor  of  burning !  And  how 
hot  it  is  !  Oh  !  " 

An  instant,  and  she  was  in  the  hall,  screaming,  "  Help  ! 
Fire  !  "  with  all  her  might. 

The  household  were  awake  by  this  time.  Men  were 
rushing  in  at  the  front  door.  Ella,  looking  back  into  her 
room,  saw  the  toilet-table  a  blackened  mass;  saw  her  beauti 
ful  dress  on  the  chair  suddenly  leap  up  in  a  fiery  flash;  saw 
the  curtains  near  by  curling  and  blazing ;  and  realized  how 
that  star  of  gaslight  had  treacherously  done  its  work,  light 
ing  the  slow-burning  damask,  that  in  time  had  fired  the  light 
draperies  of  her  toilet-table.  She  would  have  ventured  in 
to  rescue  a  few  precious  notes  that  were  locked  in  her  work- 
table  ;  but  a  gruff  voice  shouted  through  the  smoke,  — 

"  Don't  come  in,  miss  !  —  Here,  Jim,  down  with  them 
curtains  the  first  thing !  " 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  Oh,  my  !  oh,  my !  "  shrieked  the  house 
keeper,  who  at  that  instant  burst  upon  the  scene,  an  image 
of  frantic  despair  in  double-gown  and  night-cap.  "  Mercy 
on  us  !  Come  quick,  Miss  Ella,  before  the  stairs  goes !  " 

Thanks  to  prompt  action  and  the  good  offices  of  Croton, 
the  fire  was  soon  arrested  with  scarcely  more  damage  done 
than  that  which  we  have  already  seen.  In  a  week  or  two 
carpenters,  painters,  gilders,  upholsterers,  and  cabinet 
makers  had  come  and  gone,  leaving  every  thing  as  it  was 
before. 


SPIRIT  OF  THE    WATERFALL.  183 

Every  thing  ?  No,  not  quite.  Ella  was  changed.  No 
longer  a  victim  to  the  spells  of  Sheniona,  she  became 
faultless  in  her  beauty  as  she  was  true  and  tender  at  heart. 
Left  to  itself,  her  lovely  hair,  tossed  lightly  back  from  her 
temples,  soon  fell  into  a  waving  way  of  its  own,  beautiful 
to  behold  ;  and  the  golden  net  in  which  her  looped-up 
tresses  were  imprisoned  seemed  to  shine  with  gladness 
because  it  held  only  Ella's  hair.  What  a  pretty  trick  of 
thoughtfulness,  too,  came  over  my  little  girl !  Why,  in 
her  girlish  wisdom  she  could  put  a  dozen  pompous  men 
to  shame !  She  became  an  inspiration  to  me,  waking  into 
healthy  activity  the  drowsy  instinct  that  had  been  dis 
gusted  with  shams,  yet  had  not  strength  to  denounce 
them.  She  even  asked  me  timidly  one  evening,  whether  I 
didn't  think  we'd  be  happier  if  we  were  to  spend  more 
time  quietly  together,  and  less  in  the  whirl  of  ballrooms. 
Bless  her  heart !  before  long  we  actually  read  books  to 
gether.  Think  of  that!  Read  books, — good,  sensible 
books  too.  When  the  time  came,  as  it  did  last  winter, 
that  we  had  a  pretty  house  of  our  own  to  furnish,  we  went 
out  together  to  see  about  pictures  :  my  darling  is  really 
growing  to  have  quite  an  eye  for  that  sort  of  thing.  We 
bought  photographs  too,  and  a  piano  and  a  bookcase ; 
but  the  great  treasure  of  all  to  me,  in  the  furniture  line, 
is  that  big  armchair.  If  it  hadn't  been  saved  that  night, 
I  really  am  not  sure  that  I  would  have  cared  to  go  to 
housekeeping. 

"  You  foolish  boy !  "  exclaimed  Ella,  the  other  night, 
when,  thinking  aloud,  I  uttered  this  sentiment  in  her 
presence.  "  You  foolish,  crazy  boy !  How  can  you  talk 
such  nonsense  ?  " 


184  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

I  was  grave  in  an  instant. 

"  Ella,  dear,"  I  said,  "  in  my  opinion  that  chair  (inci 
dentally,  of  course)  changed  the  whole  current  of  our 
lives.  You  know  we've  neither  of  us  had  one  clouded 
moment  since  the  night  of  the  fire,  when  you  fell  asl "  — 

"  Now,  Willie,  stop !  "  cried  Ella,  blushing  tearfully. 
"  Don't  you  know  we  were  never,  never  to  speak  of  that 
dreadful  night  again  ? " 


SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  IN  A 
POOR-HOUSE. 


|OME  persons  have  a  way  of  showing  their  keen 
appreciation  of  pleasant  conditions  by  rushing 
off  in  thought  to  their  extreme  opposites. 
As  last  Sunday  was  a  glorious  day,  golden  with  sunlight 
and  rich  with  blithesome  messages  sent  through  the  whis 
pering  air  and  written  on  the  blue  sky  in  cloud-white  hiero 
glyphics,  and  as  I  was  surrounded  by  luxury  and  could 
hear  the  sweet  voices  of  a  score  of  church-bells,  my  enjoy 
ment  reached  such  a  height  that  I  concluded  to  go  to  the 
Poor-House.  Fortunately  the  mood  was  readily  commu 
nicated  to  a  friend.  We  joined  hands  with  a  true  Yankee 
"  Let's  !  "  and  started. 

It  was  easy  enough  to  open  the  Poor-House  gate  ;  easy 
enough  to  look  up  at  the  great  red  brick  building,  with  its 
massive  wings  that  had  no  thought  of  flying,  its  many 
windows,  looking  out  nowhere  in  particular,  and  its  Ironic 
order  of  architecture  generally ;  easy  enough  to  mount  the 
steps,  ring  the  bell ;  and,  alack  !  wofully  easy  instantly  to 
wish  one's  self  a  mile  away.  What  would  the  Poor-House 

16*  185 


1 86  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

folk  say  ?  Who  would  come  to  the  door  ?  Would  they 
let  us  in  —  and  on  Sunday  ? 

The  door  opened  —  something  rushed  out.  For  an 
instant  I  was  sure  it  was  a  crowd  of  paupers.  But  no  : 
it  was  only  voices,  —  a  mingled  swell  of  voices  that  sud 
denly  ceased  as  we  went  in,  as  if,  somehow,  we  had  pinched 
it  to  death  by  shutting  the  door.  A  mild  young  man 
looked  inquiringly  at  us,  without  speaking,  and  then  mo 
tioned  us  to  enter  and  go  to  the  left.  I  noticed  several 
things  in  a  flash.  In  the  first  place,  we  were  in  a  great 
bare  hall,  covered  with  bright  oil-cloth  ;  second,  the  sur 
rounding  wood-work  was  very  white  and  shiny ;  third,  the 
ceiling  was  high  ;  and,  fourth,  though  every  thing  seemed 
strangely  silent,  there  was  a  great  noise  somewhere.  It 
might  have  been  in  the  air,  or  in  the  oil-cloth,  or  in  the 
mild  young  man's  eyes,  I  didn't  exactly  know.  This  lasted 
only  for  an  instant ;  then  I  felt  sure  there  was  a  crowd  of 
persons  near  us,  and  that  the  noise  came  simply  from  the 
fact  of  their  being  alive  :  a  voice  became  audible  as  we 
turned  into  a  narrow  passage-way. 

Some  one  was  praying.  The  rush  of  sound  we  had 
heard  was  the  closing  note  of  a  hymn.  There  were  open 
doors  around  this  inner  hall ;  through  one  we  saw  a  room 
full  of  men,  and  at  the  others,  strange  figures  of  women, 
who  were  flitting  about  uneasily.  We  moved  on  softly, 
and  took  the  chairs  that  the  young  man  offered  us.  They 
were  just  inside  the  doorway  of  the  room  where  the 
men  sat.  Now  we  could  see  a  row  or  two  of  bare-headed 
women  at  the  far-end  of  the  apartment  and  all  along  one 
side.  Dingy-looking  men  sat  against  the  opposite  wall. 
What  revelations  we  saw  in  those  rows  of  pauper  faces  I 


SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  IN  A   POOR-HOUSE.     1 87 

They  seemed  to  be  mute  visitors  from  some  land  of  rags 
where  the  sun  never  shone,  —  to  have  sprung  into  life  full 
grown,  yet  with  only  misery  for  heart-blood,  so  restless 
and  desolate  their  look.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood 
a  table  with  an  open  Bible  upon  it,  and  around  this  table, 
several  feet  away  from  it,  about  a  dozen  well-dressed  men 
were  seated,  —  men  with  furrowed,  earnest  faces,  restful 
yet  anxious  eyes,  and  nearly  all  of  them  had  their  hands 
clasped  in  eager  interest.  They  were  the  members  of  the 

Praying  Band  of  N ,  who  visit  the  Poor-House  every 

alternate  Sunday,  and  spend  an  hour  with  its  inmates. 

The  prayer  had  almost  imperceptibly  changed  to  an 
appeal  to  those  present.  The  rich,  deep  voice  of  the 
speaker  was  answered  in  various  parts  of  the  room  with 
sighs  of  sympathy  and  occasional  bursts  of  "  Amen  ! " 
"  God  be  praised  !  "  "  Ah,  yes  !  "  All  that  he  said  was 
admirable,  —  no  rhetorical  display  was  needed  here.  He 
had  a  message  of  love  and  mercy  for  his  hearers,  and  he 
told  it  simply,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  There  is  help  for 
all ! "  he  almost  sobbed,  "  help  for  all !  I  have  read  a 
glorious  promise  for  you  and  for  me.  Jesus  loves  you : 
he  is  knocking  now  at  your  door.  Will  you  turn  him 
away  ? " 

"  No,  no,  God  forbid  !  "  moaned  a  fervent  voice.  "  Let 
him  in  !  let  him  in  1 " 

It  came  from  an  old  woman  in  a  faded  cotton  skirt  and 
shawl :  she  was  bent  nearly  double,  the  big  ruffle  on  her 
cap  flapped  over  a  sallow  little  face  that  seemed  to  have 
neither  eyes  nor  mouth,  but  only  wrinkles,  a  chin,  and  a 
nose,  —  a  poor,  miserable  little  speck  of  a  woman  ;  and 
yet  how  she  took  her  place  with  earth's  mighty  ones  at 


188  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

that  moment !  A  human  soul  is  grand,  even  in  a  poor- 
house. 

Then  there  was  a  hymn, — the  Doxology,  —  we  all 
stood  up  and  sang,  even  the  bent  old  woman  and  a  very 
aged  man,  who  trembled  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  falling. 
While  we  stood,  the  blessing  was  invoked,  and  the  Pray 
ing  Band,  after  saying  a  few  hearty  words  to  this  one  and 
that,  went  off  cheerily  enough,  and  left  us  alone  with  the 
overseer  and  the  paupers. 

My  friend  talked  with  the  overseer ;  but  I  walked  along 
the  hall,  exchanging  a  word  or  two  with  the  women  who 
stood  around.  One  of  the  poor  creatures  was  crazy  — 
"  harmless,"  they  said  ;  but  she  seemed  tortured  with  in 
ward  bitterness.  I  smiled  at  her,  trusting  to  the  magnet 
ism  of  kindness  and  sympathy ;  but  she  glowered  at  me 
with  a  hideous  grimace  that  sent  the  blood  running  back 
icily  into  my  heart.  Then  she  stood  aside  and  nodded. 
I  tried  again,  offering  the  smile  as  before.  How  good 
my  friends  have  been  never  openly  to  complain  of  its 
quality  !  This  poor  creature  candidly  testified  her  disap 
proval,  and  sent  it  back  to  me  in  horrible  travesty.  Poor 
creature,  what  has  wrecked  her,  I  wonder  ?  There  was 
no  time  to  ask  questions,  for  there  was  too  much  to  be 
seen. 

I  noted  one  woman,  whose  possible  history  opened 
before  me  like  a  revelation.  She  was  thin  and  gaunt,  with 
a  skin  like  old  parchment,  and  a  loose  under  lip  that 
seemed  to  say  sullenly,  "  Once  I  was  pretty  and  red,  and 
I  used  to  smile,  and  say  saucy  things."  She  seemed  about 
forty  years  old ;  her  head  had  great  bald  spots  over  the  ears, 
and  its  little  wisp  of  yellowish-gray  hair  was  gathered  into 


SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  IN  A   POOR-HOUSE.     189 

a  knot  by  a  broken  red  comb  that  long  ago  had  been  showy. 
Her  dress  was  of  a  dim,  nameless  hue,  and  hung  as  if  its 
life  had  long  ago  been  washed  away  ;  a  once  gay  necker 
chief  was  folded  over  her  flat  breast,  and  lying  over  this 
was  a  wide  frill  of  cotton  lace,  gathered  at  the  long  sinewy 
throat.  The  collar  evidently  had  been  washed  for  Sunday  ; 
and,  strange  to  say,  the  woman,  after  all,  had  something 
of  what  is  called  a  stylish  look.  There  was  an  old-time 
grace  lurking  somewhere  among  her  bones,  ugly  and  faded 
and  wretched  as  she  was.  I  would  have  spoken  to  her, 
but  she  turned  stiffly  away,  as  if  with  a  haughty  sense  that 
I  did  not  belong  to  "  her  set."  Near  her  stood  a  sad-faced 
German  woman,  who  held  a  little  girl  by  the  hand.  How 
much  alike  the  two  faces  were,  and  yet  one  was  fresh  and 
bright,  and  the  other  wan  with  poverty  and  trouble !  In 
one,  life  showed  like  a  dawn  that  threw  a  ruddy  light  on 
the  clouds  around  ;  in  the  other,  it  stood  shrouded  like  a 
ghost  behind  the  pale  cheek  and  weary  eye.  Something 
about  this  mother  and  child  made  me  ask  the  overseer 
whether  they  did  not  sometimes  find  good  places  for  the 
inmates,  where  they  could  earn  a  livelihood.  "  Oh,  yes  !  " 
he  said,  "  it  often  happens  so  ;  and  we  do  all  we  can  toward 
getting  the  able-bodied  ones  into  service.  We  try  to  send 
them  away  better  men  and  women  than  they  were  when 
they  came." 

Just  then  I  spied  an  old  woman  with  large,  dark  eyes, 
looking  rather  more  comfortable  than  the  rest,  though  she 
leaned  on  a  crutch,  and  her  hands  were  badly  swollen  at 
the  knuckles.  She  had  a  little  room  on  the  main  floor. 
It  had  a  comfortable  bed  in  it,  a  chest,  a  table,  a 
chair,  and  on  its  window-shelf  were  growing  a  few  gera- 


190  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

niums  in  pots  and  boxes.  Just  now  the  old  woman  stood 
in  her  doorway,  and  smiled  brightly  as  I  approached. 

"  Were  you  in  at  the  meeting  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  with  a  bright  glance  that  lighted 
up  her  thin  face,  and  deepened  the  flush  on  her  ckeek,  "  I 
didn't  go  in.  My  rheumatiz  wont  let  me  sit  down,  when 
it  ain't  a  mind  to  ;  but  I  stood  outside  here,  and  heerd  it 
all." 

"  Well,  that's  better  than  nothing,"  I  said,  catching  her 
cheery  manner.  "  It's  a  happy  thing,  I  am  sure,  for  you 
to  have  these  meetings." 

"  Oh,  certain  !  "  she  answered.  "  Folks  take  heaps  o' 
comfort  out  o'  religion.  It's  beautiful  to  hear  'em  prayin'." 

This  was  uttered  in  such  an  outside  way,  that  I  was 
tempted  to  add,  "  Yes,  and  to  pray  one's  self.  Don't  you 
think  so  ? " 

"  Lor !  yes,"  she  answered,  staring  at  me  in  that  uncom 
promising  way  peculiar  to  paupers.  "Lor!  yes.  I  took 
religion  two  year  ago,  and  prayin'  is  every  thing  to  me." 

"  I  knew  something  made  you  happy,"  I  said,  "because 
you  take  pains  to  have  those  geraniums  growing  in  your 
window.  Did  you  raise  them  yourself  ? " 

"  Oh,  certain  ! "  nodding  her  head  and  still  staring. 
"  Raised  'em,  and  have  great  luck  with  all  such.  I  look 
at  'em  when  I'm  doubled  up  with  rheumatiz  ;  but,  thank 
the  Lord,  I  off  an'  on  can  use  some  of  my  fingers  right 
handy  ;  and  then  I  sew,  which  is  nice,  having  good  eye 
sight." 

Just  then  a  forlorn-looking  man  came  out  from  the 
kitchen.  "  That's  him"  she  said,  shaking  her  head  side- 
wise,  "  my  husband  —  lost  his  health  and  broke  down. 


SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  IN  A  POOR-HOUSE.     191 

But  he's  a  baker  by  trade,  and  when  he  kin,  he  helps  with 
he  bakin'." 

"  That's  good,"  I  said  :  "  it  must  make  both  of  you 
happier  to  feel  that  he  is  useful." 

"  My !  yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  superb  wag  of  her 
head.  "  Oh !  in  course.  It  makes  me  quite  airy  and 
independent,  it  does." 

Poor  old  woman  !     Grand  old  pauper  ! 

Next  to  the  room  where  the  services  had  been  held, 
was  the  eating-hall.  We  saw  the  long  bare  tables,  and 
women  standing  beside  them,  eating  their  early  supper. 
A  girl  came  in  with  a  large  wooden  bowl,  rilled  with 
slices  of  buttered  bread.  These  were  distributed  around  ; 
and  in  addition  each  had  a  tin  cup  filled  with  milk.  Cer 
tainly  all  appeared  neither  under-fed  nor  sickly,  though 
they  wore  the  inevitable  look  that  comes  with  long  hard 
ship,  and  which  rarely  is  driven  away  by  relief. 

Next,  after  a  few  enterprising  explorations,  we  found 
ourselves  on  a  little  back  porch  of  the  building,  my 
friend  and  the  overseer  discussing  points  that  did  not  in 
terest  me,  and  I  peering  about  with  a  vague  dread  that  I 
might  see  something  which  it  would  not  be  pleasant  to 
discover. 

Of  course  I  did  that  very  thing.  Behind  me  was  the 
smooth-walled  hall  with  its  shining  oilcloth ;  above  me, 
the  blue  sky  with  its  suggestion  of  bird-song ;  before  me, 
trees  in  which  a  soft  breeze  was  sporting ;  and  so  I  peered 
into  a  kind  of  square  area,  or  wall-corner,  or  whatever  it 
was,  and  saw  —  what ! 

Two  women,  —  one  clinging  to  a  bench,  and  looking 
more  like  a  huge,  gray,  half-dead  bat  than  a  woman,  so 


192  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

dustily  flimsy  were  her  rags  and  hangings ;  and  another, 
at  brazen-looking  thing,  in  the  very  bravery  of  squalor. 
The  brazen-looking  thing  was  either  an  idiot  or  a  lunatic, 
I  could  not  tell  which  :  the  busy,  aimless  look  in  her  face 
meant  nothing.  She  seemed  the  guardian  of  the  bat. 
Near  by,  where  some  scrubber  had  left  it,  stood  a  pail  of 
dirty  water  with  a  sponge  in  it.  Suddenly  the  half-witted 
thing  stooped,  and,  taking  the  sponge  from  the  pail,  lifted 
it  all  dripping  to  the  other  woman's  bowed  face.  There 
was  no  remonstrance,  only  a  wretched  jerk  of  the  head, 
which  ceased  with  the  second  stroke  of  the  wet  sponge. 
When  for  a  third  time  it  was  dipped  for  a  fresh  supply, 
again  to  be  aimlessly  thrust  into  the  poor  helpless  face,  I 
called  to  the  overseer  ;  and  he  stopped  the  proceedings 
with  a  sharp  "stut-t-t !  "  that  sent  the  half-witted  creature 
off  to  a  corner,  grinning,  and  rubbing  her  wrists,  as  though 
she  were  a  monkey. 

In  again  for  further  explorations,  and  up,  up,  to  the 
very  top  of  the  building.  Then  after  we  had  mounted  to 
the  cupola,  which,  after  the  manner  of  most  cupolas,  was 
not  at  that  moment  in  a  condition  to  afford  us  a  "  look 
out,"  we  turned,  and  went  down  again  past  the  bed-cham 
bers,  and  the  sitting-rooms,  dining-hall,  kitchens,  wash 
rooms,  boiler-rooms,  and  cellars,  until  we  found  ourselves 
in  the  open  air,  quite  at  a  distance  from  the  neat  doorway 
by  which  we  had  entered. 

Then,  with  many  thanks,  we  bade  our  guide  good-by, 
and  sought  the  front  gate,  —  my  friend  filled  with  grand, 
philanthropic  ideas,  and  I  bathing  in  a  grateful  sunbeam 
of  thought,  in  which  floated,  mote-like,  bathing-tubs, 
patent  ventilators,  bare  tables,  tin  cups,  a  tumbled-down 


SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  IN  A   POOR-HOUSE.    IQ3 

old  man,  a  bald-headed,  stylish  pauper,  a  bright  little 
child-face,  the  Praying  Band,  my  "  airy  and  independent " 
old  woman,  the  dreadful  creature  with  her  sponge,  and 
the  mild  young  man  who  had  let  us  in. 

But  the  clouds  had  risen  meanwhile :  the  air  was  grow 
ing  chill.  As  I  looked  back  at  the  great  red  building,  a 
choking  sense  of  human  misery  came  over  me.  The 
brooding  friend  beside  me  was  silent  j  and  so,  true  to  my 
nature,  I  said,  — 

"  Let  us  walk  fast.     There'll  be  a  bright  fire  at  home ; 
and  they'll  all  be  sitting  round  it,  waiting  for  us." 
'7 


Miss  MALONY  ON  THE 
CHINESE  QUESTION. 


JCH!  don't  be  Jalkin'.  Is  it  howld  on,  ye  say? 
An'  didn't  I  howld  on  till  the  heart  of  me  was 
clane  broke  entirely,  and  me  wastin'  that  thin 
ye  could  clutch  me  wid  yer  two  hands.  To  think  o'  me 
toilin'  like  a  nager  for  the  six  year  I've  been  in  Ameriky 
—  bad  luck  to  the  day  I  iver  left  the  owld  counthry !  —  to 
be  bate  by  the  likes  o'  them !  (faix,  an'  I'll  sit  down  when 
I'm  ready,  so  I  will,  Ann  Ryan ;  an'  ye'd  better  be  list- 
nin'  than  drawin'  yer  remarks).  An'  is  it  meself,  with  five 
good  characters  from  respectable  places,  would  be  herdin' 
wid  the  haythens  ?  The  saints  forgive  me,  but  I'd  be 
buried  alive  sooner'n  put  up  wid  it  a  day  longer.  Sure, 
an'  I  was  the  granehorn  not  to  be  lavin'  at  once-t  when 
the  missus  kim  into  me  kitchen  wid  her  perlaver  about 
the  new  waiter-man  which  was  brought  out  from  Californy. 
"He'll  be  here  the  night,"  says  she.  "And,  Kitty,  it's 
meself  looks  to  you  to  be  kind  and  patient  wid  him ;  for 
he's  a  furriner,"  says  she,  a  kind  o' lookin'  off.  "Sure, 
an'  it's  little  I'll  hinder  nor  interfare  wid  him,  nor  any 
194 


MISS  MALONY.  19$ 

other,  mum,"  says  I,  a  kind  o'  stiff;  for  I  minded  me 
how  these  French  waiters,  wid  their  paper  collars  and 
brass  rings  on  their  fingers,  isn't  company  for  no  gurril 
brought  up  dacent  and  honest.  Och !  sorra  a  bit  I  knew 
what  was  comin'  till  the  missus  walked  into  me  kitchen, 
smilin',  and  says,  kind  o'  sheared,  "  Here's  Fing  Wing, 
Kitty  j  an'  ye'll  have  too  much  sinse  to  mind  his  bein'  a 
little  strange."  Wid  that  she  shoots  the  doore  ;  and  I, 
misthrustin'  if  I  was  tidied  up  sufficient  for  me  fine  buy 
wid  his  paper  collar,  looks  up,  and  —  Howly  fathers  !  may 
I  niver  brathe  another  breath,  but  there  stud  a  rale  hay- 
then  Chineser,  a-grinnin'  like  he'd  just  come  off  a  tay- 
box.  If  ye'll  belave  me,  the  crayture  was  that  yeller  it 
'ud  sicken  ye  to  see  him ;  and  sorra  stitch  was  on  him 
but  a  black  night-gown  over  his  trowsers,  and  the  front  of 
his  head  shaved  claner  nor  a  copper-biler,  and  a  black 
tail  a-hangin'  down  from  it  behind,  wid  his  two  feet  stook 
into  the  haythenestest  shoes  ye  ever  set  eyes  on.  Och  ! 
but  I  was  up  stairs  afore  ye  could  turn  about,  a-givin'  the 
missus  warnin',  an'  only  stopt  wid  her  by  her  raisin'  me 
wages  two  dollars,  and  playdin'  wid  me  how  it  was  a  Chris 
tian's  duty  to  bear  wid  haythens,  and  taitch  'em  all  in  our 
power  —  the  saints  save  us  !  Well,  the  ways  and  trials  I 
had  wid  that  Chineser,  Ann  Ryan,  I  couldn't  be  tellin'. 
Not  a  blissed  thing  cud  I  do,  but  he'd  be  lookin'  on  wid 
his  eyes  cocked  up'ard  like  two  poomp-handles ;  an'  he 
widdout  a  speck  or  smitch  o'  whishkers  on  him,  an'  his 
finger-nails  full  a  yard  long.  But  it's  dyin'  ye'd  be  to  see 
the  missus  a-larnin'  him,  an'  he  grinnin',  an'  waggin'  his 
pig-tail  (which  was  pieced  out  long  wid  some  black  stoof, 
the  haythen  chate  1)  and  gettin'  into  her  ways  wonderful 


196  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

quick,  I  don't  deny,  imitatin'  that  sharp,  ye'd  be  shur- 
prised,  and  ketchin'  an'  copyin'  things  the  best  of  us  will 
do  a-hurried  wid  work,  yet  don't  want  comin'  to  the  knowl 
edge  o'  the  family — bad  luck  to  him  ! 

Is  it  ate  wid  him  ?  Arrah,  an'  would  I 
be  sittin'  wid  a  haythen,  an'  he  a-atin' 
wid  drum-sticks  ?  —  yes,  an'  atin'  dogs  an' 
cats  unknownst  to  me,  I  warrant  ye, 
which  it  is  the  custom  of  them  Chinesers,  till  the  thought 
made  me  that  sick  I  could  die.  An'  didn't  the  crayture 
proffer  to  help  me  a  wake  ago  come  Toosday,  an'  me  fold- 
in'  down  me  clane  clothes  for  the  ironin',  an'  fill  his  hay- 
then  mouth  wid  water,  an'  afore  I  could  hinder,  squirrit  it 
through  his  teeth  stret  over  the  best  linen  tablecloth, 
and  fold  it  up  tight,  as  innercent  now  as  a  baby,  the  dirrity 
baste !  But  the  worrest  of  all  was  the  copyin'  he'd  be 
doin'  till  ye'd  be  dishtracted.  It's  yerself  knows  the  tinder 
feet  that's  on  me  since  ever  I've  bin  in  this  counthry. 
Well,  owin'  to  that,  I  fell  into  a  way  o'  slippin'  me  shoes 
off  when  I'd  be  settin'  down  to  pale  the  praities,  or  the 
likes  o'  that ;  and,  do  ye  mind,  that  haythen  would  do  the 
same  thing  after  me  whiniver  the  missus  set  him  to  parin' 
apples  or  tomaterses.  The  saints  in  heaven  couldn't  ha' 
made  him  belave  he  cud  kape  the  shoes  on  him  when  he'd 
be  paylin'  any  thing. 

Did  I  lave  for  that  ?  Faix,  an'  I  didn't.  Didn'  he  get 
me  into  throuble  wid  my  missus,  the  haythen !  Ye're 
aware  yerself  how  the  boondles  comin'  in  from  the  gro 
cery  often  contains  more'n  '11  go  into  any  thing  dacently. 
So,  for  that  matter,  I'd  now  and  then  take  out  a  sup  o' 
sugar,  or  flour,  or  tay,  an'  wrap  it  in  paper,  and  put  it  in 


MISS  MALONY. 

me  bit  of  a  box  tucked  under  the  ironin'-blanket  the  how 
it  cuddent  be  bodderin'  any  one.  Well,  what  shud  it 
be,  but  this  blessed  Sathurday  morn,  the  missus  was 
a-spakin'  pleasant  an'  respec'ful  wid  me  in  me  kitchen, 
when  the  grocer  buy  comes  in,  and  stands  fornenst  her 
wid  his  boondles ;  an'  she  motions  like  to  Fing  Wing 
(which  I  never  would  call  him  by  that  name  ner  any  other 
but  just  haythen)  —  she  motions  to  him,  she  does,  for  to 
take  the  boondles,  an'  empty  out  the  sugar  an'  what  not 
where  they  belongs.  If  ye'll  belave  me,  Ann  Ryan, 
what  did  that  blatherin'  Chineser  do  but  take  out  a  sup  o' 
sugar,  an'  a  han'ful  o'  tay,  an'  a  bit  o'  chaze,  right  afore 
the  missus,  wrap  'em  into  bits  o'  paper,  an'  I  spacheless 
wid  shurprize,  an'  he  the  next  minute  up  wid  the  ironin'- 
blanket,  an'  pullin'  out  me  box  wid  a  show  o'  bein'  sly  to 
put  them  in.  Och,  the  Lord  forgive  me,  but  I  clutched 
it,  an'  the  missus  sayin',  "  O  Kitty ! "  in  a  way  that  ud 
cruddle  your  blood.  "He's  a  haythen  nager,"  says  I. 
"  I've  found  yer  out,"  says  she.  "  I'll  arrist  him,"  says  I. 
"  It's  yerself  ought  to  be  arristed,"  says  she.  "  Yer  won't," 
says  I.  "  I  will,"  says  she.  And  so  it  went,  till  she  give 
me  such  sass  as  I  cuddent  take  from  no  lady,  an'  I  give 
her  warnin',  an'  left  that  instant,  an'  she  a-pointin'  to  the 
doore. 

17* 


LITTLE   TALKS. 

BY  SUSAN   SNAPP. 


OUR  DEBATING  SOCIETY 
SKELETON. 


'HERE'S  a  skeleton  in  every  house,"  says  some 
old  growler  ;  and  it's  true.  John  and  I  managed 
to  keep  ours  away  for  a  long  time,  but  we  knew 
it  would  turn  up  at  last.  Sure  enough,  it's  come  !  It  has 
only  got  as  far  as  our  Debating  Society  as  yet ;  whether  it 
ever  gets  any  further,  or  not,  is  a  matter  of  single  combat 
between  it  and  John. 

Now,  if  Mr.  Snapp  shines  anywhere,  it  is  in  debate, 
The  opposing  side  always  loses  heart  as  soon  as  he  begins, 
He  makes  a  point  of  being  master  of  his  subject,  never 
loses  his  temper,  and  invariably  throws  the  balance  in 
favor  of  his  own  side  of  a  question.  I  don't  say  this  be 
cause  he's  my  John  —  not  at  all.  If  he  couldn't  debate 
well,  I'd  be  sure  to  know  it,  for  we  often  take  up  little 
questions  between  ourselves.  Besides,  I'm  always  so 
anxious  when  he  rises  to  speak  in  public,  that  my  whole 
soul  listens.  Consequently  his  weak  points,  if  there  are 
any,  always  strike  me  with  tremendous  force,  though  that 
may  be  rather  a  contradictory  way  of  putting  it. 

201 


202  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

I'm  not  the  only  one  who  holds  this  opinion.  The 
whole  town  thinks  the  same.  They  always  try  to  have 
two  or  three  extra  speakers,  "  to  balance  Snapp  "  as  they 
say ;  or,  rather,  they  did  so  until  our  skeleton  appeared  at 
the  Debating-Society  meetings,  —  a  real  skeleton,  with  a 
skin  drawn  over  it,  and  called  by  courtesy  a  man.  Yes, 
he's  a  plain,  gaunt,  high-shouldered,  long-nosed  old  farmer, 
who  carries  a  red  bandanna,  and  talks  through  his  nose, 
with  a  most  atrocious  twang  beside  ;  one  of  your  per 
verse,  aggravating  creatures,  who  utters  about  six  words  a 
day,  and  sets  you  foaming.  This  old  fellow  has  attended 
but  two  of  our  meetings  ;  and  already  he's  turned  every 
thing  inside  out  and  topsy-turvy  —  that  is,  as  far  as  John's 
position  is  concerned.  The  first  time  he  came  —  shall  I 
ever  forget  it?  —  he  sat  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  old 
schoolhouse,  taking  a  nap  through  the  greater  portion  of 
the  debate.  At  last  John's  turn  came  ;  and,  in  the  pleas 
ant  rustle  and  stir  that  always  take  place  when  John  rises 
to  speak,  our  skeleton  woke  up. 

Well,  John  spoke  beautifully,  if  I  do  say  it.  The  ques 
tion  was,  "  Which  has  the  Greater  Effect  upon  Mankind, 
—  Hope,  or  Fear  ?  "  Luckily  John  was  on  the  Hope  side, 
which,  having  good  sense,  religion,  and  poetry  with  it, 
made  his  task  as  inspiriting  as  it  was  easy.  The  other 
side  had  been  cleverly  sustained.  Collins's  Ode  on  the 
Passions  had  been  quoted  with  great  effect ;  but  it  was 
really  wonderful  to  see  John  carry  his  audience  away  from 
the  point  where  his  opponent,  an  eloquent  young  college 
graduate,  had  left  them  shuddering. 

No :  Fear  was  low,  Hope  was  high ;  Fear  was  cowardice, 
Jlope  was  courage ;  Fear  was  this,  Hope  was  that ;  and 


OUR  DEBATING  SOCIETY  SKELETON.     203 

so  on,  until  even  those  on  the  opposite  side,  forgetting 
their  defeat,  grew  radiant.  As  for  me,  I  could  hear  the 
Bow-bells  of  my  ambition  saying,  "  Turn  again,  Snapp, 
member  of  the  Legislature."  At  last,  after  asserting 
something  about  Hope  springing  eternal  in  the  human 
breast,  he  gave  a  peroration  that  made  me  say  "  Dear  old 
John  "  under  my  breath,  and  — 

Up  jumped  the  skeleton. 

No  ;  he  didn't  jump  up  at  all.  He  just  slowly  stretched 
his  neck  upward,  and  kept  on  until  it  brought  him  stand 
ing.  Then  he  looked  about  him  with  such  an  air !  It 
was  not  conceit,  nor  assurance,  and  certainly  it  was  not 
meekness ;  it  struck  me  as  being  more  of  an  anti-John 
air  than  any  thing  else  —  but  I  may  have  been  mistaken. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  he,  through  his  nose,  "  I 
didn't  come  here  to-night  with  any  notion  of  speakin',  nor 
hev  I  any  thin'  pertickerlar  to  say  except  on  one  p'int. 
The  question  is,  whether  Hope  or  Fear  has  the  greatest 
effect  upon  mankind  ;  and  how  have  you  decided  it  ?  " 

"  Hope  has  it,"  exclaimed  a  voice. 

"  That's  so,"  said  another. 

"  Order  !  "  shouted  the  chairman. 

"  I  go  in  for  Hope,"  cried  a  daring  young  fellow  near 
the  door. 

Thereupon  a  timid  friend  of  the  other  side  essayed  a 
faint  "Fear." 

Instantly  the  place  was  in  what  may  be  called  an  orderly 
uproar.  Scores  of  voices  shouted  "  Hope  !  Hope  !  "  and, 
at  every  faint  solo  of  "  Fear,"  the  Hope  chorus  gathered 
strength  and  audacity. 

Meantime  I  nudged  John  proudly ;  and  he  looked  be 
nignly  at  the  chairman,  as  if  to  say,  — 


204  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  The  audience  is  slightly  won  over,  you  see." 

The  skeleton  coughed.  Instantly  the  voices  went  out 
as  if  they  had  been  lights. 

"  So  do  I  go  in  for  Hope,"  he  twanged,  — "go  in  for  it 
most  entire  ;  but  that  hain't  the  p'int  under  discussion. 
The  question  is,  which  has  the  greatest  influence  upon 
man  ?  Now,  I  calc'late  you  can't  affect  a  man  any  more 
serious  than  to  kill  him." 

"  That's  so,"  responded  somebody  aloud,  and  everybody 
mentally. 

"  Very  well,"  drawled  the  old  fellow,  beginning  to  sit 
down,  and  finishing  his  sentence  just  as  he  touched  the 
seat ;  "  there's  lots  o'  instances  of  men  and  women  dyin' 
of  fear,  but  who  ever  heerd  of  any  one  a-dyin'  of  hope  ?  " 

Poor  John  !  What  chance  had  he  with  a  country  audi 
ence  after  that  ?  The  vote  was  taken  at  once,  and  FEAR 
carried  it  almost  unanimously. 

Then  the  subject  for  the  next  debate  was  proposed  and 
accepted  :  — 

"  Which  has  proved  the  Greater  Blessing  to  the  Human 
Race,  —  Literature  or  Agriculture  ?  " 

The  sides  were  given  out ;  and  as  good  luck  would  have 
it,  John  was  put  down  for  Agriculture,  and  the  skeleton 
was  made  the  champion  of  Literature  ! 

This  was  too  good  a  joke  to  be  passed  by.  Everybody 
laughed  except  the  skeleton.  He  merely  stuffed  his  ban 
danna  into  his  hat,  put  it  on,  and  walked  out  like  a 
somnambulist. 

I  was  worked  up,  I  confess.  The  idea  of  John,  who  is 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  pure  gold,  being  made  to 
appear  like  German  silver  by  a  creature  like  that !  How 
ever,  I  said  nothing,  but  waited  for  the  next  meeting. 


OUR  DEBATING  SOCIETY  SKELETON.     20$ 

It  came  off  last  week,  and,  like  Tarn  O'Shanter  — 
though,  I'm  glad  to  say,  in  a  different  way  —  John  was 
glorious.  He  put  Literature  on  a  very  little  shelf  in  less 
than  no  time ;  but  Agriculture  he  made  to  shine  as  the 
second  sun  of  the  universe,  —  Agriculture,  the  great  feeder 
and  ennobler  of  man.  Literature  seemed  generally  weak 
that  night.  Its  seven  advocates  took  it  out  mainly  in 
coughing,  and  saying,  "  Mr.  Chairman  ;  "  but  nearly  every 
man  and  woman  there  knew  the  blessings  of  a  farmer's 
life,  —  its  freedom,  its  pride  of  honest  toil,  its  slow  but 
sure  rewarding. 

Four  of  the  advocates  of  Agriculture  excelled  them 
selves.  They  were  nearly  as  good  as  John  ;  but  then,  you 
see,  their  subject  gave  them  every  advantage,  especially 
as  all  who  had  spoken  on  the  other  side  were  country 
bumpkins,  and  didn't  know  an  epic  from  an  almanac. 
There  was  but  one  speaker  left  for  them,  and  that  was  the 
skeleton,  who,  of  course,  would  flounder  helplessly  if  he 
attempted  to  ford  this  question. 

At  last  he  rose  ;  and  I  assure  you,  his  side  didn't  "  die 
of  hope  "  when  he  began. 

"  Friend  Scott  has  called  upon  me  to  say  somethin'" 
said  he,  after  his  neck  had  pulled  him  to  his  feet ;  "  but  it 
don't  hardly  seem  worth  while." 

["  Aha ! "  hissed  my  revengeful  heart,  and  even  John 
smiled  grimly.] 

"  I  hain't  an  argermentative  man,  myself,"  he  continued, 
"  and  I  don't  hold  to  take  part  in  these  'ere  debates  ;  but 
I  do  hold  that  this  is  a  good  Christian  assembly,  and  it 
does  go  ag'in  me  to  see  what  the  Almighty  entailed  on 
man  as  a  curse  bein'  held  up  in  this  'ere  place  as  a 
blessin'."  l8 


206  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

Down  he  sat.  The  audience,  sound  and  orthodox  to  a 
man,  ahemmed,  hawed,  and,  I  need  not  say,  passed  a 
unanimous  vote  on  the  side  of  the  skeleton  :  even  John 
held  up  his  right  hand  for  Literature. 

That's  all.  I  don't  know  that  any  thing  can  be  done 
about  it.  Setting  aside  slang,  which  I  abhor,  my  only 
hope  is,  that,  as  the  old  fellow  hasn't  more  than  a  pint  of 
blood  in  him,  he  may  dry  up  before  long,  and  disappear. 


SUNSHINE. 


JEELING  rather  blue  to-day,  it  occurs  to  me  to 
say  something  about  sunshine.  A  good  idea ! 
Already  the  blessed  word  shows  brightly  upon 
the  paper.  Its  alliteration  seems  to  appeal  directly  to  me. 
"  Sun,  Susan  !  Shine,  Snapp  ! "  it  says  in  brisk,  peremptory 
tones  ;  and  why  shouldn't  I  try  ?  It  will  be  better  for 
John,  for  the  children,  for  the  servants,  for  all  of  us. 

Shine  in  here,  please,  good  Sun,  and  let  us  find  out 
what's  the  matter.  Ah  !  I  see.  A  little  discontent,  a 
little  laziness,  a  little  selfishness,  and  a  moiety  of  that 
vague  feeling  of  apprehension  which  loves  to  steal  in  upon 
one  unawares.  Why,  I  thought  it  was  some  real  trouble  ! 
Already  the  wee,  restless  motes  are  floating  off  in  the 
bright  beams,  and  I  am  happy.  My  prayer  without  words 
is  answered.  How  beautiful  every  thing  is  out  of  the  win 
dow, —  the  sky,  the  trees,  the  grass,  even  the  flower-beds 
that  need  weeding,  and  the  garden-paths  gullied  afresh  by 
last  night's  rain  !  It  is  pleasant,  after  all,  to  see  so  much 
out-of-door  work  to  be  done.  It  gives  one  a  familiar  fel 
lowship  with  Nature,  a  sort  of  tussling,  you-and-I  feeling, 
that  adds  vastly  to  one's  sense  of  importance. 

207 


208  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

Glancing  roomward  from  the  window,  the  view  still  is 
pleasant.  There's  a  home  look  about  things,  though  the 
armchair  does  need  a  new  cushion.  (So  there  is  Dick ! 
Sing  away!  What!  jolly,  and  in  prison?  There,  I'll  put 
you  in  the  sun  too.) 

Dick  likes  that.  Ah  !  how  he"  sings  now !  I  never 
thought  of  it  before ;  but  really  that  trill  is  just  full  to 
the  brim  of  household  names.  As  I  listen,  I  can  hear 
them  all  —  not  distinctly,  but  strangely  blended  in  a  few 
shrill,  ecstatic  notes.  Is  the  sunshine  on  the  carpet  really 
quivering,  or  do  I  fancy  it  ?  No,  it's  the  shadow  of  Dick's 
fairy  cage,  as  he  hops  about  and  makes  it  swing.  Look 
ing  at  the  sunshine  — that  giver  of  life,  health,  and  joy  — 
reminds  me  of  a  true  story  that  never  has  been  printed. 

Dear  little  Kitty  G used  to  live  next  door  with  her 

widowed  mother  and  a  very  irritable  grandfather,  who  — 
poor  old  man  !  —  couldn't  bear  the  play  of  children,  and 
always,  in  chiding  them,  let  his  aches  and  pains  get  the 
better  of  his  once  cheery  voice.  Kitty,  with  her  floating, 
golden-brown  hair,  her  blue  eyes  and  dimpled  little  shoul 
ders,  looked  too  pretty  a  thing  to  growl  at ;  yet  he  would 
growl  often  at  the  mere  sound  of  her  voice.  At  other 
times  he  would  sit  silent  for  hours,  scowling  darkly,  and 
seeming  to  have  wilfully  stalked  away  from  all  warmth 
and  kindliness.  Strange  to  say,  little  Kitty  had  certain 
ways  so  like  his  that  they  really  alarmed  her  mother. 
The  child  often  would  become  moody  without  a  cause,  or 
go  off  into  shocking  fits  of  baby-passion.  Her  health 
seemed  excellent ;  her  eyes  were  bright,  and  her  cheeks 
rosy,  even  when  the  "grandfather  look,"  as  the  household 
called  it,  was  settling  upon  her  face.  Various  plans  of 


SUNSHINE.  209 

cure  were  tried  in  vain.  At  last,  during  one  of  Kitty's 
worst  spells  of  sullenness,  a  sudden  inspiration  came  to 
the  poor  mother. 

The  sunshine  was  streaming  into  the  room. 

"  Kitty,"  she  said,  moving  a  tiny  rocking-chair  to  a 
brightly  lighted  spot  on  the  carpet,  "  come  sit  here  a  little 
while." 

The  child  obeyed  in  angry  silence. 

"  What  you  want  me  to  sit  here  for  ?  "  she  snapped  forth 
after  a  few  moments'  waiting. 

"  Because  it  is  such  a  glad  place,  Kitty.  The  sun  is 
shining  there,  all  the  way  from  heaven." 

"  I  don't  care  !  "  is  Kitty's  irreverent  comment. 

"  7  care,"  answers  the  mother  softly ;  "  for  the  sun 
makes  the  world  light  and  the  waters  bright.  It  puts 
color  into  birds,  flowers,  butterflies,  and  every  thing.  It 
brings  gladness  and  new  life  to  the  world  every  morning. 
It  comes  from  God,  Kitty ;  and  I  pray  that  He  will  let 
some  of  its  brightness  and  gladness  steal  into  you." 

Instantly  Kitty  jerked  her  chair  aside,  out  of  the  bright 
beam,  as  if  resolved  that  no  unfair  advantage  should  be 
allowed,  and  again  muttered,  "  I  don't  care." 

The  mother  made  no  reply.  She  could  not,  for  the 
tears  that  were  welling  up  in  her  heart.  Still  Kitty  rocked 
and  scowled,  holding  her  pretty  blue  dress  and  white  apron 
close  to  her  side,  as  if  to  keep  it  entirely  out  of  the  sun 
light.  Meantime  her  eyes  were  fixed  defiantly  upon  the 
bright  spot  on  the  floor. 

Suddenly  she  looked  up  in  amazement. 

"  Mamma,"  she  cried,  "  it's  creepin'  —  it's  comin'  to 
Kitty ! " 

18* 


210  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

"  That's  because  God  loves  you,"  said  the  mother,  trem 
bling,  yet  not  knowing  why.  "  Oh  !  if  my  little  girl  would 
only  let  the  sun  come  to  her  straight  from  God,  it  would 
brighten  her,  I  know :  all  the  ugly  shadows  would  run  out 
of  her  heart." 

Kitty  did  not  answer :  she  was  watching  the  bright  spot. 
In  her  eagerness,  she  slid  from  her  chair,  and  knelt  upon 
the  carpet.  The  light  crept  nearer,  nearer ;  it  touched  the 
hem  of  her  dress,  it  climbed  up  her  little  apron,  it  folded 
her  in  its  splendor,  it  danced  in  her  eyes ;  and  she  burst 
forth  into  a  happy,  childish  laugh. 

"  It's  come,  mamma ! "  she  cried  joyfully.  "  It's  come ! " 
"  Don't  cry,  mamma  !  "  she  said  coaxingly,  as  her  mother, 
kneeling  beside  her,  kissed  her  again  and  again.  "  Don't 
cry,  mamma !  I  dess  Kitty  wont  never  be  naughty  any 
more." 

"  My  own  darling,  I  am  so  glad !  Wont  you  thank 
God,  Kitty,  for  all  this  ?  " 

"  I  dess  I  will,"  said  the  little  girl,  as  if  deliberating 
upon  it ;  "p'rhaps  I'll  put  something  about  it  in  my  'Now 
I  lay  me,'  to-night,  because  I  do  like  the  funny  old  sun. 
—  Now,  you  rocking-chair,  you  must  go  back  to  the  wall, 
mustn't  you  ? " 

So,  childlike,  happy,  and  full  of  loving  pranks,  the  little 
one  spent  the  rest  of  the  long  day  in  a  manner  that  aston 
ished  all  the  household,  accustomed  as  they  had  been  to 
her  almost  hourly  fits  of  gloom  and  ill-humor.  That  night, 
as  she  kissed  her  mother  for  good-night,  the  rosy  mouth 
lingered  a  moment  to  whisper,  "  How  shall  I  thank  Dod 
about  that  ? " 

Sunlight  had  indeed  entered  her  soul.     To  be  sure,  the 


SUNSHINE.  211 

naughty  spells  were  not  gone  entirely ;  but  the  intervals 
between  them  grew  longer  and  longer,  and  each  time  they 
were  checked  in  nearly  the  same  way.  The  little  creature 
would  willingly  sit  or  stand  in  the  sunshine,  at  her  mother's 
suggestion;  and  good-humor  would  come  almost  instantly. 
Once,  on  a  rainy  day,  when  she  felt  her  temper  rising,  she 
said  suddenly,  "  Oh !  if  Kitty  is  naughty  now,  she  can't 
det  back ;  can  she,  mamma  ?  "  And  mamma  laughed,  told 
her  a  pretty  story,  cooed  a  sweet  song,  in  her  ears,  —  any 
thing  to  take  the  sunshine's  place,  —  until  the  little  heart 
grew  bright  again. 

But  this  is  not  the  end  of  the  story.  Months  passed. 
The  old  grandfather  evidently  was  failing  :  he  would  sit  in 
his  chair  now  nearly  all  day  without  noticing  any  one,  except 
to  mutter  ill-humoredly  when  addressed.  One  beautiful 
morning  his  frown  was  even  darker  than  usual.  Kitty 
stole  into  the  room  with  a  hatful  of  cherries,  and  ventured 
to  offer  him  some.  His  sharp  rebuff  sent  the  child  trem 
bling  to  her  mother's  side.  For  a  moment  they  both 
looked  wistfully  at  the  poor  old  man,  but  the  incident  was 
too  common  to  surprise  them  long.  Soon  Kitty  had 

slipped  away,  and  Mrs.  G was  sewing  as  busily  as 

ever. 

At  last  something  caused  the  mother  to  raise  her  head. 

There  stood  Kitty,  near  the  south  window,  the  sunlight 
streaming  full  upon  her,  lighting  her  bright  hair,  her  eager, 
upturned  face,  and  her  apron,  which  she  held  up  at  the 
corners,  with  her  chubby  little  arms  extended. 

It  was  a  beautiful  picture  ;  and  it  stood  so  still,  it  might 
easily  have  been  taken  for  a  picture  in  reality. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Kitty?"  asked  the  mother  at 
last. 


212  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

11  I'm  catchin'  sunshine  to  t'row  over  dran'pa,"  said 
Kitty. 

The  old  man  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  an  amused 
smile.  Then,  as  the  child  began  to  move  very  slowly  and 
cautiously  toward  him,  he  watched  her  with  interest.  Sud 
denly  she  stopped  short,  with  a  pitiful,  "  O  mamma !  it 
wont  stay.  It's  all  spilling  out.  —  Dran'pa,  dran'pa !  you'll 
have  to  come  here  quick."  And  with  an  eager  cry  she 
caught  up  the  apron,  with  its  little  remnant  of  sunlight, 
and  hugged  it  to  her  breast.  The  grandfather  smiled 
again,  and  was  almost  tempted  to  rise  ;  but  Kitty  was  too 
delighted  to  wait.  In  a  moment  she  had  rushed  to  him, 
and  he  was  lifting  her  to  his  lap,  while  she  hurriedly 
opened  her  apron  to  toss  the  sunshine  into  his  face. 

Did  it  stay  there  ?  Yes,  it  did  ;  for  somehow  grand 
father  never  was  really  cross  to  Kitty  after  that  day. 


MIGRATORY  HUSBANDS. 


NEVER  had  one  of  them,  thank  heaven  !  but  I 
know  they  must  be  dreadful,  —  these  heads  of 
families  who  are  forever  popping  up  in  new  local 
ities,  with  a  "  Lo  !  I'll  build  here.  Here's  a  rising  bit  of 
property;"  or,  "This  old  cottage  I'll  renovate,  clap  on 
a  wing  and  a  piazza,  live  in  it  six  months,  and  sell  out  at 
a  bargain."  Then  those  husbands  who  are  forever  shift 
ing  their  business  from  place  to  place,  —  now  to  a  village, 
now  to  a  city,  now  to  the  backwoods,  —  a  delightful  time 
must  their  wives  have  of  it !  Never  mind  how  faithful, 
devoted,  and  enterprising  a  woman  may  be,  it's  a  great 
trial  for  her  to  be  continually  pulling  up  stakes,  and  tear 
ing  away  home-tendrils,  even  if  her  migratory  spouse  is  in 
other  respects  the  best  in  the  world.  I'd  like  to  see  the 
person  who  would  tell  me  that  I  wouldn't  go  with  John,  if 
he  decided  to  set  up  a  soda-fountain  in  the  Desert  of 
Sahara.  No.  I'd  go ;  but  I  should  suffer  in  the  going, 
though  I  told  my  woes  not  even  to  old  Cheops  himself. 
But  what  if,  instead  of  one  grand  move,  he  flitted  about 
like  a  grasshopper  ?  What  if  he  tried  Bloomfield,  and 
Flatbush,  and  Woodside,  and  Harlem,  and  a  dozen  other 

213 


214  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

places,  from  the  coming  of  the  first  nursery-tooth  to  the 
going  away  of  the  last  nursery-measles?  What  if  he 
dipped  the  children  into  twenty  schools,  filled  every  April 
air  with  mournful  farewells  to  all  our  neighbors,  and  kept 
the  parlor  carpets  in  a  perpetual  spasm  of  contraction 
and  expansion  ?  Could  I  be  the  blessed,  happy  woman 
that  I  am  ?  Shouldn't  I  be  thin,  weary,  and  heart-sore, 
and  the  children  morally  just  little  waifs  made  of  the 
shreds  and  patches  of  many  villages  ?  Certainly.  Far  be 
it  from  me  to  question  established  similes  of  wifehood : 
but  your  oaks  don't  hop  about.  They  stand  still  and 
give  the  clinging  vines  a  chance  to  take  root  beside  them. 

Only  yesterday,  while  shopping  in  town,  I  chanced  to 
find  myself  in  a  street-car  beside  a  man  and  a  stout 
woman  engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  His  was  a  thin, 
flushed  face,  with  restless  eyes,  and  lips  that  asked 
"Why?"  "Who?  ""Where?"  even  when  they  were 
silent.  Hers  was  soft,  fleshy,  massive  ;  and  its  little  eyes 
were  full  of  temporary  affability  and  interest.  He  evi 
dently  was  speaking  of  some  recent  bereavement,  while 
the  lady  leaning  toward  him  wore  a  sort  of  wash  of  deep 
feeling  which  was  "  not  a  dye,"  though  it  gave  her  a 
hue  of  sympathy  quite  proper  in  a  street-car.  Presently  I 
caught  the  words,  — 

"  She  was  in-deed.  You  lost  a  treasure  when  you  lost 
her? 

-"  Yes,  and  a  wonderful  creature  for  moving  about," 
pursued  the  man,  with  deep  feeling.  "  It  didn't  make 
any  difference :  you  could  take  that  woman,  and  set  her 
down  anywhere  !  " 

His   eyes  filled  with  tears;  and   I   looked  out  of  the 


MIGRA  TOR  Y  HUSBANDS.  2 1 5 

window,  sorry  for  his  sake,  but  glad  that  the  angels  had 
taken  at  least  one  poor  woman  away  from  a  migratory 
husband. 

The  country  abounds  with  these  naturalized  Bedouins. 
I  say  nothing  against  men  who  go  North,  South,  East, 
or  West,  and  settle.  They  are  the  nerves  of  the  body 
politic,  and  indispensable  to  our  new  civilization.  But  I 
do  feel  impelled  to  quote  mother's  favorite  expression, 
and  whisper  to  hundreds  of  men  within  hearing  distance 
at  this  moment,  "  Do  stay  put."  For  the  sake  of  wives, 
home,  children,  yourselves,  take  root  somewhere.  Help 
to  build  up  in  America  the  beautiful  homestead  feeling 
common  to  Europeans,  and  almost  unknown  to  us.  Let 
your  very  saplings  understand  that  in  time  they  are  to 
shade  your  great-great-grand-children. 


UP  WITH  THE  TIMES. 


)HN  and  I  have  had  a  visitor,  —  a  man  who  is  up 
with  the  times.  He's  gone  now,  and  we're  pretty 
well,  thank  you.  This  very  morning  he  waved  an 
unsubdued  farewell  to  his  friends  from  the  deck  of  an  out 
ward-bound  steamer  slowly  gliding  down  the  bay.  But 
he  was  at  our  cottage  yesterday,  and  the  day  before,  and 
the  days  before  that,  away  back  to  the  dim,  distant  morning 
when  first  he  appeared,  valise  in  hand.  Ask  the  walls  if 
it  isn't  so. 

Did  we  enjoy  the  visit?  Certainly.  I  don't  think  John 
and  I  ever  had  a  happier  moment  than  when,  after  saying 
"  good-by  "  a  dozen  times,  we  went  back  into  the  cottage, 
sank  heavily  upon  the  nearest  chairs,  and  stared  breath 
lessly  at  each  other. 

"  He's  gone,  John,"  I  gasped,  "  and  I  like  him." 

"  Yes,"  panted  my  spouse  ;  "capital  fellow  is  Hobkins, 
—  such  company !  Been  here  a  fortnight,  hasn't  he  ?  " 

"  Sakes  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Betsey,  passing  through  the 
room  at  that  moment,  "  if  you  two  are  not  com-plete-ly 
worn  out ! " 

I  smiled  feebly  in  reply ;  and  John,  simply  remarking 
216 


UP   WITH  THE   TIMES.  2 1/ 

that  there  were  no  two  words  about  it,  it  really  did  people 
good  to  have  a  thorough  waking  up  once  in  a  while  by 
men  like  Hobkins,  tumbled  over  upon  the  sofa,  and  was 
soon  fast  asleep. 

To  understand  the  situation,  one  must  know  Hobkins. 
He  is  one  of  your  thoroughly  posted  men.  He  is  a  con 
stant  reader  of  every  thing.  He  knows  John  Doe's  mother, 
and  Richard  Roe's  grandfather.  A  false  quotation  sets 
his  teeth  on  edge.  He  whisks  an  encyclopaedia  on  every 
eyelash.  He  goes  to  the  roots  of  things,  yet  knows  all 
about  the  last  leaf  on  the  outermost  branches.  You'd 
think,  to  hear  him  talk,  that  he  heard  Beecher,  Adams, 
Bellows,  Cuyler,  Chapin,  Spurgeon,  Brigham  Young,  and 
Moody  preach  every  Sunday,  and  that  he  went  everywhere 
and  saw  everybody  and  every  thing  every  evening  of  his 
life. 

And  yet  he  doesn't  pretend,  or  put  on  airs.  He  simply 
inhales  the  events  of  the  day,  and  breathes  them  out  per 
sonally.  His  oxygen  comes  to  him  in  paragraphs.  He 
flashes  items.  His  very  boots  creak  with  facts.  His 
"good-morning"  is  a  sort  of  universal  preface,  and  his 
"  good-night  "  a  general  "  to  be  continued."  7  call  him 
a  man  in  fifty  volumes  ;  and  John  says  it's  a  silly  idea,  but 
that,  while  I'm  about  it,  I  may  as  well  make  it  a  hundred. 

How  the  creature  ever  has  time  to  wash  and  dress  is  a 
mystery  to  me.  Yet  his  toilet  is  perfect.  It  seems  as  if 
he  must  force  knowledge  in  with  his  hair-brush,  and  rub 
in  definite  ideas  with  his  towel  —  yes,  and  grind  in  words 
with  his  tooth-brush.  I  never  saw  such  a  man ! 

Mr.  Snapp  prides  himself  on  always  being  able  to  see 
both  sides  of  an  argument ;  Hobkins  turns  the  simplest 
19 


218  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

question  into  a  dodecahedron.  He  is  so  plausible,  too ! 
every  illustration  fits.  He  was  born,  so  to  speak,  with  a 
silver  "why  and  wherefore  "  in  his  mouth.  It  makes  no 
difference  what  you  think :  you'll  agree  with  Hobkins  if 
you  live  to  hear  the  end  of  his  statements  and  demonstra 
tions. 

Dear  me !  How  much  John  and  I  know  just  from  being 
with  him  a  fortnight ;  or,  rather,  what  vistas  have  been 
opened  to  us,  with  Hobkins  always  standing  at  the  far 
end!  Sometimes  he  would  clinch  the  universe  in  his 
fist,  and  hammer  it  into  our  centre-table  for  us  to  examine 
at  leisure ;  and  sometimes  I  actually  had  to  take  hold  of 
my  chair,  he  made  the  world  spin  by  so  fast.  One  day, 
when  he  chanced  to  allude  incidentally  to  his  wife,  I  al 
most  swooned.  Mercy  on  us  !  the  idea  of  having  that 
man  for  a  husband !  I'd  sooner  marry  the  British  Museum, 
and  done  with  it.  No  :  all  the  New  York,  Boston,  Phila 
delphia,  San  Francisco,  New  Orleans,  and  European  news 
papers  represent  him  more  fitly.  His  wife  must  feel  like 
a  Mrs.  Associated  Press. 

Hobkins  gave  us  so  many  new  ideas  !  Woke  us  up,  as 
it  were.  Only  to-day  I  got  a  letter  from  Mrs.  de  Kuyster, 
secretary  of  the  half-orphan  society,  signed  "  Yours,  etc., 
Mary  de  Kuyster."  Now,  what  did  she  mean  by  that  ? 
A  week  ago  I  might  not  have  noticed  it,  but  Hobkins  has 
been  among  us.  Was  she  too  lazy,  too  proud,  or  too  con 
scientious,  to  tell  me  exactly  in  what  way  I  was  hers  ?  or 
was  the  "  etc."  resorted  to  as  a  cowardly  detour  from  can 
dor  ?  Why  didn't  she  sign  herself  simply  Mary  de  Kuys 
ter,  or  "  Yours  moderately,"  "  Yours  somewhat,"  or  even 
"  Disrespectfully  yours  "  ?  Any  form  would  be  preferable 


UP   WITH  THE   TIMES.  21 9 

to  that  paltry  et  ccetera.  I  find  myself  vexed,  not  with 
Mrs.  de  Kuyster  especially,  but  at  the  custom  which  per 
mits  these  senseless  impertinences.  It's  all  wrong,  this 
having  to  say,  "Your — something,"  for  courtesy's  sake, 
whether  it's  true  or  not.  Like  "  All  send  love,"  "  Yours 
truly  "  is  often  just  bosh,  - —  mere  sentiment  without  a 
backbone  of  fact.  Ah !  the  shams  that  have  knelt  in  the 
closing  words  of  letters  !  the  downright  lies  that  have 
stridden  forth  in  "  Your  humble  servant,"  who  is  always 
respectfully  or  cordially  somebody's  ! 

You  should  have  seen  Hobkins  at  our  table.  I'd  no 
idea  plain  diet  could  be  so  suggestive.  He  found  spec 
trum  analyses  in  the  salt-cellars,  international  rowing- 
matches  in  the  spoons,  balloon-travelling  in  the  omelet, 
and  co-operative  housekeeping  in  the  hash.  He  drew 
"  survival  of  the  fittest "  from  the  very  cheese  ;  and,  as 
John  confidentially  remarked,  actually  shook  kindergar 
tens  and  juvenile  delinquents  out  of  the  baby's  feeding- 
apron.  He  found  prison-discipline  in  the  bread ;  and 
female  colleges,  universal  suffrage,  and  bland  opinions 
generally,  in  the  butter.  The  calves-head  soup  brought 
forth  capital  punishment ;  the  beef,  labor-union  systems ; 
and  the  dessert  was  full  of  Gates  Ajar  and  spiritual  mani 
festations.  Once,  while  filling  his  teacup,  I  felt  as  if  I 
were  pouring  out  the  entire  Suez  Canal,  and  I'm  sure  I 
often  dropped  in  a  railroad  accident  with  the  sugar.  What 
with  iron  cars,  and  elastic  platforms,  and  wide  gauges,  and 
new  brakes,  car-starters,  and  compensating  expansible 
rail-joinings,  I  grew  confused  in  spite  of  myself. 

Really,  I've  not  used  so  many  big  words  in  an  age  of 
Sundays.  Some  of  them  were  new  to  me  two  weeks  ago  ; 


220  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

but  now  I'd  like  any  one  to  show  John  and  me  any  thing 
of  which  we  haven't  some  sort  of  an  inkling. 

Talking  of  ink,  Hobkins  says  they've  invented  a  sub 
stitute  for  the  present  tedious  process  of  writing,  which, 
after  all,  is  a  primitive  and  barbarous  method.  And,  by 
the  way,  speaking  of  barbarous  things,  what  an  absurd 
idea  is  now  going  the  rounds  of  the  English  and  French 
papers,  though  one  of  our  countrymen  started  it !  —  that  the 
Americans  are  fast  going  back  to  Indian  characteristics. 
They  say  it  even  of  Americanized  foreigners  ;  so  that  in  a 
few  generations  here,  a  Dutch  face  comes  out  with  high 
cheek-bones,  piercing  eyes,  straight  black  hair,  and  an 
expression  like  Big  Thunder. 

Talking  of  thunder,  Hobkins  is  delighted  with  Mr. 
Quimby's  practical  ideas  on  self-protection  during  thunder 
storms.  He  says  he  will  have  in  future  a  long  iron  chain 
trailing  to  the  ground  from  his  summer  umbrella,  never 
mind  who  laughs.  By  the  way,  talking  of  Quimby  and 
electricity,  Hobkins  says  Benjamin  Franklin  was  a  brick, 
if  he  did  wear  costly  laces  when  he  wrote  Poor  Richard's 
Almanac. 

Talking  of  bricks,  perhaps  you  may  not  know  that  the 
Bricklayers'  Association  of  New  York  has  just  — 

Horror  !  I'm  growing  to  be  like  Hobkins !  I  must 
stop. 

He's  a  capital  fellow,  though,  and  good  company ;  only 
John  and  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  we  really 
can't  stand  having  another  visitor  yet  awhile. 


MARCH.     WHAT  IT  HAS 
DONE  FOR  US. 


BY   HOBKINS. 


[Talking  of  Hobkins,  John  happened  one  day  to  speak  of  somebody  hav 
ing  been  born  in  the  month  of  March.  Straightway  Hobkins  opened  a  dis 
course,  which,  biographically  and  chronologically,  surpassed  any  thing  I  have 
ever  heard.  In  fact,  John  was  so  favorably  impressed,  that  our  guest  prom 
ised  to  "work  the  thing  up  evenings."  He  did  so,  and  here  is  the  result. 
The  wonder  to  me  is,  that  Hobkins  was  able  to  follow  the  same  trail  of 
research  so  steadily.  No  doubt  he  was  stimulated  by  the  difficulties  arising 
from  a  conflict  of  authorities.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  John  and  I  were 
delighted;  but  somehow  we  were  careful,  during  the  rest  of  Mr.  Hobkins's 
visit,  not  to  mention  any  other  month  by  name.  —  S.  S.] 

|N  the  good  old  times,  when  wolves  thought  nothing 
of  taking  princes  to  nurse,  and  the  ingratitude 
of  republics  was  undreamed  of,  there  were  fewer 
spokes  in  the  year's  revolving  wheel  than  now;  or,  at 
least,  men  counted  them  differently.  Romulus,  who,  as 
everybody  knows,  introduced  the  Roman  calendar,  with  its 
ten  spokes,  very  properly  named  the  first  Martius,  or  March, 
after  his  respected  father,  the  god  of  war.  Then  came 
added  months  and  re-modellings,  from  Julius  Caesar  down, 
until  1752,  when  the  new  style  was  adopted  in  England, 
and  January  was  made  the  first  month  of  the  twelve. 

19*  221 


222  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

However  this  arrangement  may  have  served  to  lessen 
discrepancies  between  the  calendar  and  the  true  solar  year, 
I  am  sorry  March  could  not  have  maintained  the  place 
given  it  by  Romulus.  Verily  his  reckoning  was  inspired 
by  Nature  herself  ;  for  is  not  March  the  first,  the  waking 
month,  the  resurrection  of  the  dead  year  ?  Does  she  not 
start  the  forest  into  leaf  and  song,  with  her  rushing  tide 
of  air  and  sunshine  ?  Does  she  not  chase  away  the  snow 
drifts,  and  set  the  brooks  running,  and  powder  the  soil 
with  busy,  invisible  fingers,  that  the  seed  may  send  down 
its  tender  roots  ?  Does  she  not  whistle  her  shrill  sum 
mons  to  the  birds,  and  startle  the  drowsy  insects  into  life? 
Of  course  she  does.  Therefore,  in  Nature's  almanac, 
March  shall  be  first  to  the  end  of  time.  As  she  rushed 
through  the  seven-hilled  city  ages  ago,  she  sweeps  through 
our  midst  to-day,  crying,  "  Arise,  arise !  the  spring  is 
come !  " 

There  are  other  good  reasons  why  March  should  make 
some  little  commotion  when  she  visits  the  earth.  We 
should  bluster  twice  as  loudly  with  one-half  the  cause. 
Few  months  can  show  such  a  record  as  hers.  Many  a 
March  victory,  a  March  discovery,  a  March  invention,  has 
left  the  world  richer  than  it  was  before.  She  has  ushered 
in  some  of  the  noblest  lives  humanity  has  ever  known ; 
and,  in  God's  time,  has  brought  the  final  summons  to  those 
who  left  an  undying  name  behind  them. 

To  be  sure,  there  have  been  black  sheep  in  her  flocks  ; 
but  by  that  same  blackness  we  can  trace  their  fleece,  be  it 
never  so  finely  spun,  through  the  woof  and  warp  of  history. 
Whether  the  March  weaving  started  or  ended  their  course, 
they  belong  to  her  record.  Perhaps,  when  her  voice  is 


MARCH.  223 

shrillest,  when  she  goes  screaming  distractedly  through  the 
fields  and  forests,  she  is  telling  of  them ;  just  as,  when  she 
bends  in  grand,  majestic  whisperings  to  the  sunshine,  she 
may  be  saying,  "  Angelo  was  one  of  my  children.  I  car 
ried  Beethoven  to  heaven." 

Not  a  day  in  March  but  has  its  story  to  tell :  if  idle  in 
one  year,  it  is  busy  in  another.  Let  us  take  up  each  in 
turn,  and  learn  what  we  can. 

On  the  FIRST  of  March,  1469,  William  Caxton,  at  the 
request  of  the  queenly  Margaret,  Duchess  of  Burgundy, 
commenced  translating  the  "  Recuyell  of  the  Historyes  of 
Troye."  This  remarkable  work  met  with  great  favor  in 
England ;  and  its  large  sale  in  manuscript  copies,  being  at 
best  slow  and  unsatisfactory,  led  to  his  putting  it  in  type, 
—  the  first  English1  book  that  ever  was  printed. 

The  opening  number  of  Addison's  "  Spectator  "  came 
in  1711,  on  the  ist  of  March ;  and  so,  in  1483,  did  a  very 
different  order  of  spectator,  Francis  Rabelais,  who  doubt 
less  saw  more,  thought  more,  and  jested  more,  than  any 
fifty  other  Frenchmen  of  his  day. 

On  the  SECOND,  in  1791,  died  Wesley,  the  founder  of 
Methodism.  On  its  anniversary,  six  years  afterward, 
Horace  Walpole,  "  slave  of  elegant  trifles,"  yielded  up  his 
breath.  It  was  on  the  2d,  in  1848,  that  Louis  Philippe 
and  his  queen  escaped  from  France,  and  sought  shelter 
on  British  shores.  Another  2d  of  March,  long  ago,  sent 
a  man-child  into  England,  destined  to  become  a  bright 
ornament  during  the  golden  days  of  Elizabeth,  and  to 
leave  the  Bodleian  Library  as  his  monument  upon  earth. 

1  English,  though  really  printed  in  Bruges.  Very  rare  copies  of  this  work 
are  still  to  be  seen ;  one  of  them  was  sold,  many  years  ago,  at  the  Roxbury 
sale,  for  .£1,060. 


224  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

On  the  THIRD,  in  1632,  George  Herbert,  he  who  sang, — 

"  Sweet  day !  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright,"  — 

verified  his  own,  "  all  must  die  ; "  and,  on  the  3d,  came 
two  sweet-voiced  poets  into  England,  —  in  1605,  Edward 
Waller,  the  smoothest  singer  of  his  day;  and,  forty-six 
years  later,  Thomas  Otway,  famous  in  dramatic  verse. 

The  FOURTH  of  March  has  had  honorable  work  on  hand 
many  a  time  since  our  own  national  life  began ;  but,  above 
all,  that  of  1865  stands  apart,  consecrated  to  a  memory. 

On  the  FIFTH,  in  1827,  Laplace,  the  great  philosopher, 
was  ushered  into  that  world  whose  mysteries  even  his 
piercing  gaze  had  not  been  able  to  penetrate  ;  and  on  the 
5th,  centuries  before,  Correggio  was  suddenly  summoned 
to  behold,  in  all  its  fulness,  the  grandeur  and  beauty  that 
he  had  yearned  to  embody  while  on  earth.  But  the  man 
of  many  greatnesses  had  come  earlier.  In  1474,  the  6th 
brought  a  tiny  hand  into  the  world,  that  afterwards  pro 
duced  those  masterpieces  of  art,  —  the  works  of  Michael 
Angelo. 

March  the  EIGHTH,  1817,  is  identified  with  the  birth  of 
Layard,  explorer  of  the  antiquities  of  Nineveh,  and  with 
the  death  of  two  kings,  —  William  III.  of  England,  in  1702, 
and  Bernadotte  of  Sweden,  in  1844. 

The  NINTH,  in  1792,  brought  forth  William  Cobbett,  the 
most  obstinate  politician,  the  stanchest  lover  of  agricul 
ture,  that  ever  lived.  More  than  a  century  before,  it  had 
taken  away  a  very  different  politician,  Richelieu's  pupil, 
the  famous  Cardinal  Mazarin,  slave  of  ambition,  lover  of 
art,  and  a  man  so  wedded  to  appearances  that  he  literally 
dressed  for  his  death,  so  that  his  corpse  might  be  well 


MARCH.  22$ 

shaven  and  rouged.  In  1825,  the  Qth  brought  summons 
to  a  gentler  victim,  the  venerable  Mrs.  Barbauld,  after  she 
had  devoted  nearly  fifty  years  of  her  long  life  to  the  in 
struction  and  entertainment  of  the  young. 

The  TENTH  was  noted,  some  two  thousand  years  ago,  for 
being  the  date  of  an  interesting  surgical  operation,  viz., 
amputation  of  the  head,  performed  upon  one  Helioga- 
balus  ;  a  complicated  case  of  imperial  villany.  Men  have 
nearly  forgotten  it  now :  the  remedy  has  become  less 
novel ;  and,  besides,  more  interesting  events  have  .come 
to  pass  on  the  loth,  such  as  the  birth  of  Playfair  the  natu 
ral  philosopher,  in  1748;  of  William  Etty  the  painter,  in 
1787  ;  and,  in  1820,  the  death  of  Benjamin  West,  the 
American  President  of  the  Royal  Academy. 

Torquato  Tasso,  one  of  the  greatest  of  Italian  poets,  in 
turn  the  pet  and  victim  of  Duke  Alphonso  of  Ferrara, 
was  born  on  the  ELEVENTH  of  March,  1544. 

On  the  TWELFTH,  in  1684,  came  Bishop  Berkeley,  the 
philosopher,  now  chiefly  remembered  on  account  of  his 
pet  theory,  —  the  non-existence  of  matter ;  though  his 
scheme  of  Christianizing  the  savages  of  America,  and 
his  persevering  attempt  to  carry  it  out,  show  the  man 
in  a  truer  and  nobler  light. 

The  THIRTEENTH,  in  1 68 1,  gave  birth  to  a  little  English 
girl,  whose  name  is  recorded,  in  her  parish  church  in 
Surrey,  as  Esther  Johnson  ;  but  to  this  day  the  world  will 
insist  upon  calling  her  Stella,  and  all  because  of  one  Jona 
than  Swift,  who  loved  her  cruelly.  Fifty-two  years  after 
wards,  on  the  same  day,  came  the  renowned  Dr.  Priest 
ley,  he  of  the  English  cradle  and  American  grave,  whose 
philosophical  writings  extend  to  nearly  eighty  volumes. 


226  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

Among  those  who  went  on  the  thirteenth,  I  find  the 
well-known  names  of  Belisarius  in  A.D.  565  ;  and,  passing 
over  many  centuries,  La  Fontaine,  prince  of  fable-writers, 
Mignard,  the  eminent  French  painter  (both  in  1695),  and, 
in  1711,  Boileau,  who  was  considered  almost  a  dunce  till 
he  was  thirty,  and  then  electrified  France  by  his  poetry, 
his  wit,  his  sparkling  companionship.  On  March  13, 1845, 
Regina  Maria  Roche,  author  of  "  Children  of  the  Abbey," 
opened  the  eternal  Book  of  Mysteries,  which  all  who  die 
shall  read  ;  and  on  the  same  day,  just  nine  years  later, 
departed  Thomas  Noon  Talfourd,  the  never-to-be-forgotten 
author  of  "  Ion." 

Ninety-five  years  ago,  on  this  same  day  of  March,  a 
lone  watcher  of  the  skies  saw  a  new  planet  swim  into  his 
ken.  It  was  William  Herschel  ;  and  the  planet  was  Ura 
nus,  or,  as  he  named  it,  the  Georgium  Sidus. 

The  FOURTEENTH,  in  1803,  took  Klopstock,  the  great 
German  poet,  away  from  a  world  that  had  used  him  more 
fairly  than  it  generally  uses  men  of  genius  ;  and  the  same 
day,  nearly  fifty  years  before,  saw  Admiral  Byng  led  out 
to  die,  in  punishment  for  his  having,  as  Voltaire  said,  u  not 
gone  near  enough  to  a  French  admiral  to  whom  his  coun 
try  required  him  to  give  battle." 

March  FIFTEENTH  stands  immortal  in  the  records  of  the 
past ;  for  on  that  day,  on  the  ides  of  March,  forty-four 
years  before  the  Christian  era,  Julius  Caesar,  the  greatest 
man  of  all  antiquity,  gathered  his  mantle  about  him,  and 
fell.  What  must  his  dying  glance  have  been  to  one  among 
that  crowd  of  murderers,  if  to  this  clay,  "  Et  tu,  P-rute  !  " 
gives  humanity  a  pang  ! 


MARCH.  227 

The  calends,  the  nones,  the  ides  —  how  strange  and 
unmeaning  the  words  to  us  !  Yet,  in  the  old  Roman 
times,  all  public  events,  all  household  changes,  weddings, 
births,  festivities,  and  funerals,  were  registered  according 
to  one  or  another  of  these  leading  divisions  of  the  month. 
An  event  occurring  on  the  ist  of  March,  for  instance, 
was  dated  the  calends,  the  first  or  call  day ;  if  later,  then 
as  so  many  days  before  the  nones,  or  ninth  ;  if  later  still, 
by  giving  the  number  of  days  before  or  after  the  ides. 

Thus  each  item  of  news  had  its  sounding  phrase.  The 
little  Flavius  Augustus  possibly  cut  his  first  tooth  on  the 
fourth  before  the  nones  of  June  ;  his  sister  Antonia,  it 
may  be,  went  with  young  Aurelius  to  the  Games  on  the 
calends  of  April ;  and  their  noble  uncle  Caius  Strabo  (no 
relation  to  the  historian)  died  at  twilight  on  the  ides  of 
November. 

This  last  date  would  be  styled  by  us  November  13  ; 
for  it  was  only  in  October,  March,  May,  and  July,  that 
the  ides  fell  upon  the  fifteenth  of  the  month. 

We  have  remembered  how,  on  the  ides  of  March,  ages 
ago,  Brutus  and  his  fellow-conspirators  did  violence  to  the 
noblest  life  of  all  antiquity.  I  am  reminded  now  of  one 
who,  in  our  own  generation,  died  a  peaceful  death  on  a 
1 5th  of  March,  and  was  laid  to  rest  in  an  old  Italian 
church,  beside  the  grave  of  Torquato  Tasso.  This  is 
Mezzofanti  of  Bologna,  probably  the  most  remarkable 
linguist  the  world  has  ever  known.  There  was  scarcely  a 
tongue,  living  or  dead,  that  he  did  not  master.  It  is  said, 
that  at  the  age  of  fifty  he  was  proficient  in  as  many  lan 
guages  as  he  had  lived  years ;  and,  before  he  died,  he  was 
well  acquainted  with  seventy.  Think  of  a  man  who  could 


228  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

read  or  converse  fluently,  not  only  in  Latin  and  Greek,  in 
English,  French,  German,  Italian,  Spanish,  Dutch,  and 
Portuguese,  but  also  in  Chinese,  Russian,  Turkish,  Sanscrit, 
Coptic,  Ethiopian,  Abyssinian,  and  Sabaic,  and  scores  of 
other  languages  and  dialects,  the  very  names  of  which  would 
sound  as  unfamiliar  to  us  as  their  own  idioms  !  Lord 
Byron  once  described  him  as  "  a  walking  polyglot,  a  mon 
ster  of  languages,  and  a  Briareus  of  parts  of  speech."  It 
seems  to  me,  that,  since  life  at  the  best  is  short,  to  have 
spoken  and  studied  in  all  his  tongues,  he  could  have  been 
little  else  than  a  human  Tower  of  Babel. 

And  now,  passing  the  ides  of  March,  we  must  deal 
briefly  with  the  remainder  of  the  month ;  for  its  days  are 
rich  with  chronicled  events,  and  with  names  already  bla 
zoned  in  the  annals  of  fame. 

Archbishop  Cranmer,  who,  but  for  the  fickleness  of 
that  afflicted  widower  Henry  VIII.,  would  possibly  never 
have  become  eminent,  and,  but  for  the  fidelity  of  the 
same  many-sided  monarch,  would  never  have  lived  to 
call  young  Edward  his  king,  was  burned  at  the  stake 
in  March,  1556.  Many  a  noble  head  has  touched  the 
block  in  this  same  eventful  month.  March  has  brought 
many  a  monarch  into  the  world ;  and  to  many  it  has 
brought  death,  —  sometimes  rudely,  sometimes  with  mer 
ciful  gentleness.  We  know  how  Pompey,  son-in-law  of 
Caesar,  triumvir  of  Rome,  and  only  second  among  the 
conquerors  of  his  day,  fled  at  last,  a  hunted  fugitive,  into 
Egypt,  and  was  murdered  there  two  days  after  the  ides  of 
March,  B.  C.  45  ;  how  Nero  fell  by  his  own  guilty  hand 
just  one  hundred  and  thirteen  years  from  that  day ;  and 
how,  on  the  23d  of  March,  1369,  a  new  Cain  rose  up 


MARCH.  229 

on  Spanish  soil  to  slay  that  black-hearted  tyrant,  Peter  the 
Cruel. 

We  know  how  the  summons  came  to  James  the  First 
in  March,  1625,  leaving  his  double  crown  to  a  head  that 
sat  firmly  enough  on  its  shoulders  then ;  and  who  does 
not  remember  that  royal  death-bed  on  the  24th  of  March, 
1603,  from  which  Elizabeth  of  England  went  forth  sceptre- 
less  and  unattended  into  the  unknown  land  ? 

March  gave  us  Raffaelle  in  1483,*  and  Vandyck  in 
1599.  The  birthday  (22d)  of  the  latter  is  richer  since 
1822  ;  for  it  marks  the  years  of  Rosa  Bonheur.  Seven 
days  later  comes  the  anniversary  of  Thorwaldsen's  death 
in  1844;  and  on  the  last  of  the  month,  in  1837, tnat  °f  Con 
stable,  noted  among  the  landscape-painters  of  England. 

To  Beethoven  and  Haydn  also,  March  gave  the  same 
birthday;  for  on  the  3ist,  in  1732,  Haydn  was  born  into 
this  life  ;  and  on  the  3ist,  in  1827,  Beethoven  was  born  into 
heaven.  One  year  before,  Von  Weber  had  left  the  world 
his  "last  waltz  ;"  and  on  March  2,  in  1854,  the  match 
less  voice  of  Rubini  was  stilled  forever. 

In  the  course  of  the  research  necessary  in  giving 
March  her  due,  one  truth  has  manifested  itself  which 
would  have  been  invaluable  to  Buckle. 

March  is  lavish  in  bringing  fresh  and  beautiful  impulses 
to  Nature.  There  is  no  death  in  her  touches  here  —  only 
life ;  life  in  tree  and  shrub  and  blade  ;  life  in  the  quickened 
sunshine,  in  the  very  stones,  in  old  logs  and  timbers,  in 
the  stirring  pavement  of  the  woods !  But  with  mankind 
she  is  less  prodigal  in  her  gifts ;  indeed,  more  inclined 

1  Some  authorities  say  April.  —  S.  S. 


230  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

to  rob  than  to  enrich.  Though  she  often  has  sent  rare 
lives  into  the  world,  she  oftener  does  the  same  work  among 
mortals  that  her  good  sister  November  does  to  the  fields, 
—  blights  them  for  a  fresher  blooming.  Her  glorious 
cradles  are  fewer  than  her  honored  graves. 

Let  there  be  no  misunderstanding :  I  mean  to  cast  no 
slur  upon  March  babies  in  general.  Millions  and  millions 
of  these  there  have  been,  all  astonishing  in  their  way, 
each  more  remarkable  than  any  before,  —  in  fact,  the  very 
paragons  of  babyhood  ;  but  somehow  their  names  flour 
ish  in  the  family  record  rather  than  in  the  biographical 
dictionary.  Their  waxen,  baby  fingers  may  have  tugged 
at  the  very  heartstrings  of  their  household,  (God  be 
praised  for  that  same  !)  but  the  pioneer  axes  of  progress, 
the  tillers  of  government,  the  torches  that  light  humanity 
through  the  darkness,  but  few  of  them  have  grasped. 
Therefore  I  repeat,  March,  as  a  rule,  does  not  show  her 
strength  in  her  cradles. 

There  have  been  some  famous  ones,  however,  in  which 
lay  folded  nearly  all  that  is  great  or  possible  in  humanity, 
whether  for  good  or  evil.  If  you  are  willing  to  stride  over 
a  century  now  and  then,  we  can  take  a  hasty  peep  into 
some  of  the  cradles  of  the  past. 

First  of  all,  see  Ovid  lying  asleep  through  his  first  day 
light,  March  20,  43  years  B.  C.  [Qy. — Did  they  have 
cradles  in  ancient  Salmo  ?]  Next,  making  a  leap  over 
time  and  space,  see  Robert  Bruce,  a  dear,  sonsie  little  bud 
of  a  king,  shaking  his  tiny  Scotch  fist  at  England  in  the 
March  of  1274 ;  next  in  1516  see  Conrad  Gesner  at  Zurich 
on  the  26th,  a  few  hours  old,  unconscious  that  he  is  des 
tined  to  be  one  of  the  noblest  men,  one  of  the  most  learned 


MARCH.  231 

philosophers,  of  his  day;  and,  all  the  while,  Botany  is 
waiting  for  him  to  grow  up  and  introduce  her  to  the  world 
as  a  science.  And  then,  in  March,  1596,  take  a  peep  at 
the  helpless,  new-born  Descartes,  whose  philosophies  shall 
one  day  muddle  mankind. 

Step  onward,  please,  into  the  eighteenth  century,  — 
March  29,  1738. 

Who  is  this  little  creature,  with  his  soft,  peachy  cheek, 
and  his  smiling  mouth,  already  a  miniature  copy  of  his 
beautiful  French  mother  ?  Be  careful  !  It  is  Joseph  Guil- 
lotin :  already  he  may  have  taken  a  hint  from  the  carven 
cradle-top  over  his  head.  That  same  Joseph,  in  his  hu 
manity,  not  his  cruelty,  shall  one  day  tell  the  National 
Assembly  to  put  its  victims  to  death,  if  they  must  do  it  at 
all,  with  mercy  and  skill ;  and  he  will  make  them  a  guil 
lotine  for  the  purpose. 

While  Joseph  is  still  a  child,  promoted  to  marbles  and 
kites,  and  proud  of  his  ten  years  of  boyhood,  we  can  visit 
another  March  cradle  (23,  1749),  containing  Peter  Simon 
Laplace,  swaddled  in  flannel,  but  smiling  a  meaning  baby- 
smile.  Who  knows  ?  Perhaps  spirit  voices  are  telling 
him  of  all  that  he  shall  live  to  accomplish.  No  :  the  smile 
is  too  simple  for  that.  I  think  it  is  because  he  hears  that 
Napoleon  will  some  day  make  him  a  count,  that  Louis 
XVIII.  will  honor  him  still  further.  Moving  onward,  we 
note  a  grave  also.  Its  stone  is  dated  March  5, 1827  ;  and 
beneath  it  sleeps  the  form  of  the  Marquis  de  Laplace. 

Ah  !  here  is  a  cradle,  all  trimmed  with  snowy  muslin 
and  ribbons  !  It  is  only  a  girl-baby,  to  be  sure,  and  the 
parents  are  plain  people ;  and  there  is  a  shock-headed 
boy  of  twelve  peeping  in  at  the  door,  asking  when  he  can 


232  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

kiss  his  new  sister.  But  see  what  the  father,  a  well-known 
musician  of  his  day,  is  writing  on  a  certain  leaf  of  the  fam 
ily  Bible  !  It  is  German  ;  but  we  can  translate  it :  "  Born 
March  16,  1750,  Caroline  Lucretia  Herschel."  The  boy 
William,  standing  outside,  will  be  proud  of  his  sister  one 
of  these  days. 

Two  years  later,  on  the  i6th,  another  little  girl,  destined 
to  be  famous,  opened  her  eyes  to  the  light.  She  is  re 
membered  now  as  Madame  Campan,  the  French  histori 
cal  writer. 

There  are  not,  I  believe,  many  more  March  cradles 
worth  noting.  That  of  the  renowned  Dr.  Chalmers  grew 
heavier,  by  a  baby's  weight,  on  the  iyth  of  March,  1780; 
and  so,  precisely  one  year  afterward,  did  that  of  Ebenezer 
Elliott,  the  Corn  Law  Rhymer. 

Still  another  cradle  was  filled,  on  the  i8th,  in  1782. 
Fortunately  the  rockers,  not  believing  in  independent 
sovereignty,  moved  in  unison,  or  the  little  John  C.  Cal- 
houn  would  not  have  slept  so  peacefully.  Sixty-eight 
years  afterward,  a  March  grave  opened  to  receive  the 
weary  body  of  the  South  Carolina  statesman. 

Re-crossing  the  ocean,  we  wander  into  a  darkened  room 
over  a  butcher's  shop,  in  the  town  of  Nottingham,  Eng 
land.  There  is  a  baby  here  (March  21,  1787),  who  will 
one  day  be  a  butcher-boy,  next  a  stocking-weaver,  then  a 
lawyer's  clerk,  then  a  dying  student  of  divinity  at  Cam 
bridge  ;  through  all  displaying  qualities  of  heart  and  mind 
that  have  rendered  the  name  of  Henry  Kirke  White  hon 
ored  beyond  his  generation.  Only  twenty-one  years  on 
earth  ;  but  what  a  lesson  he  gave  of  patient  perseverance, 
of  indomitable  energy,  of  lofty  will,  that  even  the  tyranny 
of  bodily  infirmity  could  not  subdue  1 


MARCH.  233 

There  is  yet  another  March  cradle,  —  a  cradle  so  sugges 
tive,  so  fraught  with  deep  philosophies  and  reflections, 
that  one  almost  rebels  at  skipping  past  it  in  a  paragraph. 
But  there  is  no  alternative.  Let  us  be  content  to  see  that 
it  is  a  beautiful  cradle,  furnished  with  imperial  magnifi 
cence  ;  that  the  very  air  floating  about  it  is  perfumed  with 
the  breath  of  a  palace ;  that  the  hopes  and  prayers  of  a 
nation  cluster  around  its  downy  pillows.  And,  after  all, 
it  holds  only  an  ordinary  infant.  Ah  !  If  Josephine  had 
been  the  mother,  all  might  have  ended  so  differently  ! 
But  I  must  not  moralize  nor  speculate.  The  wisest  plan 
is  to  call  in  Capt.  Cuttle.  Overhaul  your  French  history, 
March  20,  1811,  and,  when  found,  stick  a  pin  in  it. 

It  is  not  pleasant  to  hunt  up  old  graves  as  it  is  to 
peer  into  cradles,  because,  even  with  faith  pointing  up 
wards,  our  thoughts  will  crawl  under  the  slabs  and  monu 
ments  in  search  of  our  so-called  dead.  To  the  freed  souls 
looking  on,  how  strange  this  must  seem  ! 

Still  visible  among  the  debris  of  ages,  are  the  sculp 
tured  names  of  Phocion,  the  great  Athenian,  as  good  as 
he  was  great,  who  died  in  March,  317  years  B.  C. ;  and 
Caesar  and  Mark  Antony,  and  many  other  famous  men  of 
antiquity,  who,  according  to  the  best  authorities,  closed 
their  earthly  career  in  the  waking  month. 

All  along  the  highways  of  history  we  can  find  March 
graves,  and  in  the  narrower  and  more  winding  paths  of 
life  we  see  them  proudly  rearing  their  inscriptions  to  the 
daylight.  Our  time  is  short :  we  must  read  them  as  we 
run. 

Among  those  of  the  seventeenth  century,  we  meet  with 
the  name  of  a  player  distinguished  in  his  art,  immortal 


234  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

from  the  fact  that  his  fellow-actor  Shakspeare  saw  him 
play  Hamlet  and  Romeo  and  Macbeth,  —  one  Burbage, 
who  made  his  final  "exit"  on  the  i6th  of  March,  1619. 
Also  we  find  in  1640  Philip  Massinger,  whose  life,  though 
illumed  by  bright  gifts,  was  but  one  long  winter's  day ; 
and  Charlotte  Tremouille  (1663),  a  shining  star  among 
heroic  women ;  and,  in  1677,  Wenceslaus  Hollar,  the 
famous  but  luckless  engraver  of  Bohemia,  whose  works, 
it  is  said,  numbered  nearly  twenty-four  hundred  plates. 

In  the  eighteenth  century  we  find  honored  names. 
Here  is  Sebastian  de  Vauban,  the  greatest  military  engi 
neer  of  France  (March  30,  1707)  ;  next,  Sir  Isaac  New 
ton,  who,  winding  his  watch  on  the  2oth  of  March,  1727, 
fell  back,  and  spoke  no  more ;  next,  Jean  Baptist  Rous 
seau,  the  celebrated  French  poet,  who  died  in  banishment 
on  the  1 7th,  1741  ;  Laurence  Sterne,  a  non-reverend  di 
vine,  who,  nevertheless,  had  veins  of  pure  gold  in  his 
earthy  nature  (i8th,  1766);  William  Smith,  the  English 
geologist,  (23d,  1769);  Swedenborg,  father  of  one  faith, 
and  thought-giver  to  many  another  (29^1,  1772)  ;  and,  last 
of  all,  one  of  England's  polished  ornaments,  Lord  Ches 
terfield,  who  on  March  24,  1773,  after  Dayroles  was  com 
fortably  seated,  closed  his  eyes,  and  died,  as  he  had  lived, 
a  gentleman. 

Now  we  come  to  fresher  graves,  though  scarcely  greener 
memories.  Only  a  few  of  the  names  can  be  read  in  such 
a  hasty  glance  as  this,  —  among  them  John  Home  Tooke 
(March  18,  1812),  renowned  in  English  politics,  and  none 
the  worse  for  a  word-combat  with  that  writer  in  an  iron 
mask,  the  immortal  Junius;  and,  greater  than  all,  the  name 
of  Goethe,  whose  dying  request  for  "more  light"  was  glo 
riously  answered  on  March  22,  1832. 


MARCH.  235 

There  are  others,  whose  monuments  are  plainly  visible ; 
but,  as  their  names  have  already  been  mentioned,  we  view 
them  silently,  and  pass  on. 

Here  are  two,  on  opposite  sides  of  the  British  Channel, 
but  bearing  the  same  date,  March  21,  1843.  One  tells  of 
Baron  La  Motte  Fouque,  dear  to  the  hearts  of  France  ; 
the  other,  of  Robert  Southey,  poet-laureate  of  England. 

Twice  since  then,  —  in  1855  and  1860,  —  has  March, 
with  bated  breath,  whispered  the  summons  to  those  whom 
the  world  would  fain  have  kept  a  little  longer,  —  Anna 
Jameson  and  Charlotte  Bronte.  They  have  grown  so  dear 
to  us,  these  two,  that  we  will  not  call  them  dead.  The 
homes  of  the  immortals  may  be  nearer  than  we  think. 

And  now,  is  not  March  a  memorable  month  ?  Ask 
Nature ;  ask  the  busy,  ever-changing  world ;  ask  the 
Christian  Church,  constant  in  her  memories  j  ask  March 
herself.  If  any  one  can  blow  her  own  trumpet,  surely  it 
is  she. 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  BODY, 


JRUCIFY  the  flesh,  if  you  will :  that's  all  well 
enough  in  its  way ;  but  honor  the  flesh  too,  say 
I.  Second  in  importance  only  to  the  human 
soul,  the  body  cannot  in  itself  be  low  and  base.  In  many 
ways  the  body  shapes  and  colors  the  soul,  even  as  the 
soul  colors  and  shapes  the  body.  Therefore  I  repeat, 
honor  it,  study  it.  It  has  to  hold  you  while  you  are  here  : 
therefore  hold  you  it  reverently  and  with  care  so  long  as 
you  are  in  it. 

The  jests  and  gibes  that  are  flung  at  the  human  body ! 
The  absurd  conjectures  and  insinuations  !  The  contempt- 
ble  comparisons  ! 

"What  of  its  vaunted  powers ?"  sneers  one.  "Can  it 
build  like  a  bee,  scent  like  a  hound,  sleep  like  a  toad, 
hold  on  like  a  leech,  jump  like  a  grasshopper,  or  climb 
like  a  monkey  ? "  "  And  its  voice ! "  says  another. 
"  Why,  if  the  volume  of  a  human  voice  bore  the  relative 
proportion  to  a  man's  size  that  the  note  of  a  canary  bears 
to  the  bird's  exquisite  form,  his  lightest  word  could  be 
heard  at  a  distance  of  eight  hundred  miles."  And  still 
another  malcontent  has  suggested,  that  "  if  man  only  had, 
236 


RIGHTS  OF  THE  BODY.  237 

relatively  to  his  bulk,  the  jumping  power  of  the  tiniest 
flea,  he  could  spring  from  New  York  to  China  at  a  single 
bound  I " 

"  If  he  had  proportionately  the  jumping  powers  of  a 
flea,"  forsooth !  Stuff  and  nonsense !  The  idea  of  a 
rational  being  jumping  from  New  York  to  China!  A 
man  never  was  intended  to  be  like  a  flea.  If  you  put 
your  finger  on  him,  is  he  not  there  ?  —  unless  he  owes  you 
money,  which,  of  course,  alters  the  case. 

It  is  one  of  the  growing  evils  of  the  age,  —  this  speak 
ing  so  lightly  of  the  noble  human  creature.  I  cannot 
express  the  indignation  with  which  I  read  yesterday  the 
following  precious  item,  by  a  scientific  writer :  — 

"  If  a  man,  weighing  one  hundred  and  forty  pounds, 
were  squeezed  in  a  hydraulic  press,  seventy  pounds  of 
water  would  run  out,  the  balance  being  solid  matter.  A 
man  is,  chemically  speaking,  forty-five  pounds  of  carbon 
and  other  elements,  with  nitrogen,  diffused  through  five 
and  a  half  pailfuls  of  water." 

Think  of  that !  There's  a  pretty  bit  of  information  to 
introduce  into  the  sanctity  of  home ;  to  pour  into  the  ears 
of  growing  boys  and  girls !  Where  would  Mr.  Snapp's 
dignity  be,  I'd  like  to  know,  if  the  children  understood 
that  he  was  only  "  half  and  half,"  like  his  sometime  bever 
age?  What  if,  after  he  had  delivered  a  few  impressive 
words  of  paternal  rebuke  and  counsel  to  the  children,  I 
should  say  to  them,  "  Don't  mind  your  father,  my  dears : 
he's  only  a  little  carbon,  nitrogen,  and  other  elements, 
diffused  through  five  and  a  half  pailfuls  of  water "  ?  A 
pretty  state  of  things  we  should  have  after  that ! 

No,  my  friends :  joking  aside,  this  sort  of  thing  will  not 


238  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

do.  You  must  respect  the  body,  and  teach  your  children 
to  do  likewise.  It's  the  best  material  thing  that  Heaven 
has  made  yet ;  and  I  don't  believe  it's  going  to  be  excelled 
in  this  world. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  suppress  the  truth.  If  it  can  be 
scientifically  demonstrated  that  our  most  solid  men  are 
really  five  and  a  half  pailfuls  of  water,  let  the  fact  stand : 
that  is  a  mere  question  of  condition.  What  I  beg  leave 
to  uphold  is  the  dignity  of  the  human  body  as  we  know 
it,  and  not  under  the  hydraulic  press.  Therefore  again  I 
say,  respect  the  body,  dear  men  and  women.  Speak  of  it 
reverently,  as  it  deserves.  Behold,  how  fine  a  thing  it  is  ! 
"  in  form  and  moving  how  express  and  admirable  ! " 

Respect  the  body:  study  its  needs,  and  meet  them. 
Don't  take  it  into  unworthy  places ;  give  it  sunshine,  pure 
air,  and  exercise.  Be  conscientious  as  to  what  you  put 
down  its  throat.  Remember,  what  is  fun  to  the  cook  and 
confectioner  may  be  death  to  //.  Treat  it  at  least  as  well 
as  you  would  your  pet  horse  or  hound.  Give  it  good, 
wholesome  food  ;  let  it  be  on  intimate  terms  with  friction 
and  soap  and  water  ;  and  especially  don't  render  it  ridic 
ulous  by  your  way  of  dressing  it. 

Recognize  the  dignity  of  the  body :  hold  it  erect  when 
you're  awake,  and  let  it  lie  out  straight  when  you're 
asleep.  Don't  let  it  go  through  the  world  with  little 
mincing  steps,  nor  great  gawky  strides.  Don't  swing  its 
arms  overmuch,  and  don't  let  them  grow  limp  from  inac 
tivity.  Resolve  to  respect  its  shoulders,  its  back,  its  fair 
proportions  generally  \  and  straightway  shall  struts  and 
stoops  and  wriggles  be  unknown  forever. 

Respect  the   body:   give  it  what  it  requires,  and  no 


RIGHTS  OF  THE  BODY.  239 

more.  Don't  pierce  its  ears,  strain  its  eyes,  or  pinch  its 
feet ;  don't  roast  it  by  a  hot  fire  all  day,  and  smother  it 
under  heavy  bed-covering  all  night ;  don't  put  it  in  a  cold 
draught  on  slight  occasions,  and  don't  nurse  or  pet  it  to 
death :  don't  dose  it  with  doctor's  stuffs  ;  and,  above  all, 
don't  turn  it  into  a  wine-cask  or  a  chimney.  Let  it  be 
"  warranted  not  to  smoke  "  from  the  time  your  manhood 
takes  possession. 

Respect  the  body :  don't  over-work,  over-rest,  nor  over- 
love  it,  and  never  debase  it ;  but  be  able  to  lay  it  down 
when  you  are  done  with  it,  a  well-worn  but  not  a  misused 
thing.  Through  all  your  days,  let  it  walk  hand  in  hand 
with  your  noblest  self ;  and,  my  word  for  it,  though  it  will 
not  jump  to  China  at  a  bound,  you'll  find  it  a  most  excel 
lent  thing  to  have  —  especially  in  the  country. 


WOMAN'S  DRIVING. 


out  of  breath ;  for  I've  just  been  off  driving 

with  our  neighbor,  Mrs.  G ,   who  held    the 

t reins,  and  frightened  me  nearly  to  death.     But, 

out  of  breath  or  not,  I  must  speak  my  mind  before  I  take 

off  my  bonnet.     As  for  Mrs.  G ,  I  have   nothing  to 

say  of  her.  She's  a  good  neighbor  on  foot ;  and,  if  she 
had  chanced  to  be  the  only  survivor  of  any  one  of  the  ten 
accidents  that  miraculously  didn't  happen  this  morning, 
my  heart  tells  me  she  would  have  mourned  me  truly,  and 
comforted  poor  John  as  well  as  she  could.  But  this  I  will 
say :  no  woman  ought  to  attempt  to  drive  a  horse,  until 
she  knows  precisely  how  to  harness  and  unharness  that 
noble  animal ;  no  woman  should  drive,  who  cannot  dis 
tinguish  "  a  shy  "  from  symptoms  of  blind  staggers  ;  no 
woman  should  drive,  who  hasn't  presence  of  mind,  who 
hasn't  a  firm  hand,  who  can't  fasten  a  tie-strap,  or  who 
gasps  out,  "  Whoa-a-a,  sir  ! "  to  a  frightened  horse,  as  if 
she  were  about  to  faint.  Neither  should  a  woman  drive, 
who  at  one  moment  lets  the  reins  go  flippetty-flap  on  the 
horse's  back,  jerks  them  violently  the  next ;  or  who,  un 
skilled  in  peremptory  coaxing  or  the  use  of  the  lash,  is 
240 


WOMAN'S  DRIVING.  241 

constantly  inflicting  feeble  horizontal  whippings  with  the 
entire  length  of  the  lines.  And,  more  than  all,  a  woman 
who  believes  that  only  slow  horses  are  safe  should  never 
be  trusted  with  any  human  life  but  her  own.  These 
wretched  pokes  of  horses,  that  stumble  and  back  and  stop 
just  when  they  ought  not,  that  are  too  sleepy  to  heed 
the  lines,  and  too  stupid  to  be  turned  around  in  a  space 
not  big  enough  for  a  camel-dance,  are  the  special  pets  of 
poor  drivers  among  our  gentle  sex  ;  yet  how  very  dan 
gerous  such  horses  are  ! 

I  know  what  I  am  saying.  Some  women  can  drive,  and 
some  can  not ;  and  those  who  can  will  not  consider  the 
above  remarks  at  all  personal.  They  feel  their  power, 
and  take  a  pride  in  the  art.  They  know  how  every  failure 
a  woman  makes  in  any  department  hurts  the  credit  of 
every  other  woman  who  ever  afterward  may  express  a 
desire  to  attempt  to  do  any  thing.  A  man  may  meet 
twenty  poor  male  drivers  in  an  hour,  and  his  comment,  if  he 
has  noticed  their  deficiencies  at  all,  will  be  that  they  were 
"  not  half  men,"  they  didn't  know  how  to  drive ;  but,  if 
they  see  one  female  driver  who  fails  to  handle  the  reins 
skilfully,  they  straightway  decide,  and  declare  for  years 
to  come,  that  a  woman  can't  drive,  and  that's  the  long  and 
short  of  it. 

So,  dear  sisters,  be  considerate.  For  the  credit  of  all 
womankind,  know  what  you  are  about  when  you  attempt 
the  slightest  feat  of  horsemanship.  Put  your  judgment 
into  the  work ;  learn  the  practical  bearings  of  the  undertak 
ing.  They're  simple  enough.  Take  up  common-sense 
with  your  reins,  and  resolution  with  your  whip  ;  and  never 
for  a  moment  allow  a  mere  animal  to  make  you  forget 

21 


242  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

your  human  superiority.  Telegraph  your  soul  through 
the  lines,  if  you  can ;  be  brave,  brisk,  calm,  and  mag 
netic,  or  don't  ask  me  to  go  out  with  you  in  your  lovely 
new  buggy. 

There,  I  feel  better!      I'll  ask  Mrs.  G over  to 

tea. 


UNITED  AGES. 


MAY  not  be  a  Bedlam  maniac,  as  Susan  Nipper 
would  say,  but  there  are  some  things  in  this  world 
that  do  make  me  right  up  and  down  mad  !  One 
of  these  is  the  ridiculous  way  certain  newspaper  folk  and 
domestic  wonder-mongers  have  of  announcing  the  united 
ages  of  a  number  of  persons  by  way  of  producing  — 
uncommon  sense  only  knows  what. 

Certainly  not  astonishment,  for  early  in  life  we  cease  to 
start  at  the  proposition  that  eighty  and  seventy  make  a 
hundred  and  fifty ;  surely  not  a  sense  of  the  sublime, 
since  the  idea  of  a  dozen  ordinary  persons  being  able  to 
constitute  one  Methuselah  almost  robs  the  great  patriarchal 
fact  of  its  grandeur  ;  and  most  decidedly  not  amusement, 
for  the  thought  of  thus  Siamesing  so  many  infirm  human 
existences  is  dismal  to  the  extreme. 

What,  then,  can  induce  any  one  to  unite  ages  ?  or  is  it 
I  who  am  at  fault,  being  too  dull  to  perceive  the  majesty 
of  a  conglomerate  individual  ? 

No  :  if  three  or  more  aged  men  happen  to  be  together, 
they  are  three  aged  men,  and  that's  all  there  is  about  it. 
You  can't  make  a  triple-headed  veteran  out  of  the  lot,  any 

243 


244  THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS. 

more  than  you  can  make  a  forty-pound  fish  out  of  a  shoal 
of  minnows.  As  for  trying  to  make  a  human  addition 
sum  out  of  the  three,  it  is  enough  to  make  Old  Time  throw 
his  hour-glass  at  the  head  of  the  calculator. 

Only  yesterday  I  read  in  a  morning  paper,  an  account 
of  an  interesting  family  reunion  on  the  event  of  a  fine  old 
gentleman  reaching  the  ripe  age  of  ninety-three.  So  far, 
so  good.  It  was  a  beautiful  occasion  to  celebrate.  There 
were  the  descendants,  plenty  of  them,  and  all  in  regular 
order.  Still  no  offence.  Nobody  could  expect  an  old 
gentleman  of  ninety-three  to  have  a  grand  family  reunion 
without  any  descendants.  The  account  put  me  in  quite  a 
glow  of  kindly  feeling,  when  suddenly,  without  the  least 
warning,  I  came  upon  this  exhausting  paragraph  :  — 

"The  combined  ages  of  the  children,  grandchildren, 
and  great-grandchildren  are  seven  hundred  and  sixteen 
years." 

Think  of  that,  now!  that  is,  if  you  can  think  of  it. 
I  can't.  I  tried  at  first  to  divide  the  whole  into  children, 
grandchildren,  and  great-grandchildren ;  and  they  spread 
out  indefinitely  from  a  dozen  to  a  hundred.  Then,  scan 
ning  the  account  further,  I  managed  to  discover  that  there 
were  four  children,  eighteen  grandchildren,  and  seven 
great-grandchildren.  Ah !  thought  I,  now  we  have  it ! 
The  combined  number  of  these  is  29  ;  and  29  goes  into 
^6  —  goes  into  716  —  about  twenty-four  or  twenty-five 
times.  What  then?  Should  I,  by  making  each  of  the 
combined  nearly  twenty-five  years  old,  rob  the  grand 
fathers  and  grandmothers  of  two-thirds  of  their  natural 
lives,  and  make  the  baby  great-grandchildren  exceedingly 
backward  for  their  age  ?  or  should  I  calculate  the  thing 


UNITED  AGES.  24$ 

on  a  common-sense  basis,  and  allow  a  difference  of  about 
twenty  years  to  each  generation  ?  Absurd  !  I  scorned 
to  do  either.  It's  a  case  for  the  lightning-calculator  in 
his  dotage ! 

Again,  we  sometimes  hear  of  a  pew-full  of  elderly  cit 
izens  whose  united  ages,  we  are  told,  amount  to,  say  four 
hundred  years.  What  of  it?  What  good  does  it  do? 
Are  we  to  understand  that  there  were  six  hoary  individuals 
in  the  pew,  each  of  them  crowned  with  sixty-six  years  and 
eight  months  ?  Probably  not.  Were  there  three,  each  of 
them  about  a  hundred  and  thirty-three  last  Christmas  ? 
Preposterous  !  Then  perhaps  there  were  four,  and  each  of 
them  — 

"  But,"  interposes  your  startling  announcer,  "  the  num 
ber  is  known.  There  were  five."  Ah !  that  simplifies 
matters  at  once.  Undoubtedly  they  were  just  eighty  years 
old  apiece ;  or,  if  not,  they  ought  to  have  been,  or  else 
seated  themselves  in  separate  pews,  and  not  disturbed  the 
meeting  by  suggesting  arithmetical  conundrums. 

This  sort  of  thing,  I  repeat,  makes  me  furious.  If  it  is 
done  at  all,  it  should  be  done  thoroughly,  and  on  a  grand 
scale.  Let  the  morning  papers,  for  instance,  come  out 
with  something  like  this  :  — 

"  Broadway  presented  a  remarkable  spectacle  yesterday 
afternoon,  —  remarkable  even  for  this  most  wonder-pre 
senting  thoroughfare  of  our  metropolis.  The  streets  were 
thronged  with  our  oldest  and  most  respectable  citizens, 
many  of  whom  carried  gold-headed  canes.  United  ages 
of  all  pedestrians  between  Fourteenth  and  Vesey  Streets, 
at  the  time  our  reporter  left,  8,673,043,271,975  years." 

Or,  perhaps,  this  :  — 

21* 


246  THEOPHILUS  AND   OTHERS. 

"  BY  TELEGRAPH  —  ANOTHER  TERRIBLE 
DISASTER.  — We  shudder  to  record  that  the  Pacific 
Railroad  express-train  to  San  Francisco,  in  consequence 
of  a  misprint  in  the  time-table,  last  evening  collided  with 
a  freight  train  in  a  gorge  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The 
train  was  loaded  to  excess.  Nobody  killed  ;  but  every  pas 
senger  was  paralyzed  for  over  ten  minutes  by  the  shock. 
Tender  infants,  blooming  maidens,  middle-aged  parents, 
and  venerable  grandsires  —  one  and  all  shared  the  same 
fate.  Some  idea  of  the  extent  of  this  dreadful  calamity 
may  be  gathered  from  the  fact  that  the  aggregated 
ages  of  the  passengers  amount  to  52,089,742,301^  years  !  " 

Horrible  !  Figuring  this  out  carefully,  by  deferential 
calculus,  it  would  make  our  very  venerable  monster  of  an 
Aggregate  motionless  and  helpless  for  six  years,  five 
months,  four  days,  and  twenty  minutes.  Once  let  an  idea 
like  that  be  impressed  upon  the  public  mind,  and  railroad 
companies  will  have  to  look  out  ! 

Or,  for  a  change,  let  somebody  publish  the  fact,  that  in 
a  certain  ward  of  the  Scroogstown  Foundling  Asylum, 
there  are  fifty  individuals  whose  united  ages  make  just 
two  years  !  This  would  be  vastly  more  interesting,  and 
wouldn't  tax  one's  arithmetic  so  cruelly. 

And  now,  my  friends,  as  our  dear  old  parson  used  to- 
say  (and  he  was  a  responsible  man,  I'm  sure,  because  his 
"  united  ages,"  taking  in  wife  and  eight  children,  amounted 
to  at  least  three  hundred  and  ninety-two  years),  we'll 
conclude. 

Hold  !  A  thought  staggers  me  !  Purchasers  of  this 
volume,  probably  sixty  thousand  ;  readers,  at  least  three 
hundred  thousand ;  combined  ages  of  these,  not  in  years, 
but  in  minutes,  would  be  — 


UNITED  AGES.  247 

The  thought  is  too  immense  !  Let  them  wait  until  S.  S. 
is  no  more.  Then  let  the  sum  total  of  the  years  of  all 
her  readers  be  calculated  for  the  benefit  of  inquiring 
friends;  but  let  it  never  be  inscribed  upon  the  monu 
mental  stone  erected  by  sorrowing  kindred  over 

ONE 

WHO   DID   NOT   BELIEVE 
IN 

STUFF   AND   NONSENSE. 


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Than  stamps  in  gold,  or  sums  in  sealed  bays."— 

SHAKESPBARK. 

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.  SANS-SOUCI  SERIES. 

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still  less  likely  to  be  mastered  by  those  of  limited  leisure.  It  is  to  meet  the  wants  of  this 
very  numerous  class  of  readers  that  the  Epochs  of  History  has  been  projected.  The  series 
will  comprise  a  number  of  compact,  handsomely  printed  manuals,  prepared  by  thoroughly 
competent  hands,  each  volume  complete  in  itself,  and  sketching  succinctly  the  most  impor 
tant  epochs  in  the  world's  history,  always  making  the  history  of  a  nation  subordinate  to  this 
more  general  idea.  No  attempt  will  be  made  to  recount  all  the  events  ot  any  given  period. 
The  aim  will  be  to  bring  out  in  the  clearest  light  th.  salient  incidents  and  features  of  each 
epoch.  Special  attention  will  be  paid  to  the  literature,  manners,  state  of  knowledge,  and  all 
those  characteristics  which  exhibit  the  life  of  a  people  as  well  as  the  policy  of  their  rulers 
during  any  period.  To  make  the  text  more  readily  intelligible,  outline  maps  will  be  given 
with  each  volume,  and  where  this  arrangement  is  desirable  they  will  be  distributed  through 
out  the  text  so  as  to  be  more  easy  of  reference.  A  series  of  works  based  upon  this  general 
plan  can  not  fail  to  be  widely  useful  in  popularizing  history  as  science  has  been  popularized. 
Those  who  have  been  discouraged  from  attempting  more  ambitious  works  because  of  their 
magnitude,  will  naturally  turn  to  these  Epochs  of  History  to  get  a  general  knowledge  of 
any  period ;  students  may  use  them  to  great  advantage  in  refreshing  their  memories  and  in 
keeping  the  true  perspective  of  events,  and  in  schools  they  will  be  of  immense  service  as  text 
books,— a  point  which  shall  be  kept  constantly  in  view  in  their  preparation. 

THE  FOLLOWING  VOL UMES  ARE  NO  W  READ Y: 

THE  ERA  OF  THE  PROTESTANT  REVOLUTION.  By  F.  SEEBOHM,  Author 
of  "  The  Oxford  Reformers— Col et,  Erasmus,  More,"  with  an  appendix  by  Prof. 
GEO.  P.  FISHER,  of  Yale  College.  Author  of  "  HISTORY  OF  THE  REF 
ORMATION." 

THE  CRUSADES.  By  Rev.  G.  W.  Cox,  M.A.,  Author  of  the  "History  of 
Greece." 

THE  THIRTY  YEARS'  WAR,  1618-1648.     By  SAMUEL  RAWSON  GARDINER. 
THE  HOUSES  OF    LANCASTER  AND  YORK;    with  the  CONQUEST  and 

LOSS  of  FRANCE.     By  JAMES  GAIRDNER  of  the  Public  Record  Office. 
THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION  AND  FIRST  EMPIRE:  an  Historical  Sketch. 

By   WILLIAM  O'CONNOR  MORRIS,  with  an  appendix  by  Hon.  ANDREW   D. 

WHITE,  President  of  Cornell  University. 
THE  AGE  OF  ELIZABETH.     By  Rev.  M.  CREIGHTON,  M.A. 

THE    FALL    OF    THE    STUARTS   AND   WESTERN    EUROPE    FROM 

1678  io  1697.     By  Rev.  E.  HALE,  M.A. 
THE  PURITAN  REVOLUTION  1603-1660.     By  S.  R.  GARDINER. 

JJ3*  Copies  sent  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  Publishers, 

SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG  &  CO.,  w&w  Broadway,  New  York- 


A  New  and  Elegantly  Illustrated  Edition  of 

HANS     BRINKER; 

Or,    THE    SILVER    SKATES. 

-A.     STORY     Oin     Limifl     IN-    HOIuL^TsTD. 

-By  MRS.  MARY   MAPES  DODGE, 

Author  of  "Rhymes  and  Jingles,"  and  Editor  of  "  St.  Nicholas." 

With  60  Illustrations,  after  designs  by  the  best  French  Artists. 

One   vol.,  12mo,   cloth,   beveled   edges,    $3.OO. 

Front   the  Nation. 

"We  some  time  ago  expressed  our  opinion  that  Mrs.  Mary  Mapes  Dodge's  delightful 
children's  story,  called  Hans  Brinker  ;  or,  The  Silver  Skates,  deserved  an  entirely  new 
dress,  with  illustrations  made  in  Holland  instead  of  in  America.  The  publishers  have  just 
issued  an  edition  in  accordance  with  this  suggestion,  and  we  hope  it  is  not  too  late  in  the 
season  to  announce  the  fact.  The  pictures  are  admirable,  and  the  whole  volume,  in  appearance 
and  contents,  need  not  fear  comparison  with  any  juvenile  publication  of  the  year,  or  of  many 
years." 

From   the  Buffalo  Courier. 

"  Mrs.  Dodge's  beautiful  story  of  Hans  Brinker  comes  forth  again  radiant  in  the  splendor 
of  this  new  edition.  The  book  is  exquisitely  printed  and  gorgeously  bound,  and  the  illustra 
tions — well,  some  of  them  are  the  finest  things  '  on  ice '  we  have  lately  seen,  while  all  give  such 
quaint  in-looks  to  the  life  and  manners  and  scenery  of  Holland  that  the  young  reader  can 
scarcely  help  vowing  to  travel  thither  as  soon  as  he  or  she  grows  up.  .  .  .  We  can  well 
believe  that  wherever  it  goes  it  will  become  a  children's  classic." 


From  the  Syracuse  Journal, 

"  Around  this  story  of  life  in  Holland  Mrs.  Dodge  has  woven,  with  charming  grace  and 
effect,  the  tender  sentiments  of  childhood  and  youth,  which  she  knows  so  well  how  to  picture 
to  life.  Not  one  of  the  thousands  of  boys  and  girls  who  on  Christmas  Day  will  take  up  this 
beautiful  volume  will  lay  it  down  until  the  last  leaf  is  turned." 

From  the  Boston  Advertiser. 

"This  book  has  been  a  great  favorite  not  only  in  America  but  in  other  lands.  The  author 
has  every  reason  to  be  gratified  at  the  success  and  constant  popularity  of  this  charming 
narrative,  which  teaches  so  finely  the  noblest  lessons  of  character  and  life,  while  picturing  the 
customs  and  scenes  of  Holland.  S.  A.  &  Co.  have  done  a  good  thing  in  publishing  a  new 
edition  in  a  style  befitting  the  holidays,  and  containing  sixty  illustrations  of  superior  merit" 

From  the  Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"The  interest  throughout  is  varied  and  sustained  in  a  manner  that  leaves  nothing  to  be 
desired,  and  the  book  is  written  in  the  piquant  and  fascinating  style  characteristic  of  the 
authoress.  It  is  remarkably  well  illustrated  and  bound  in  a  resplendent  fashion.  Nothing  ol 
the  kind  could  be  more  acceptable  to  juveniles  for  a  Christmas  present." 

For  sale  by  booksellers  generally.  Will  be  sent,  fast-paid,  on  receipt  of  the  price  by 
the  publishers, 

SCRIBNER,    ARMSTRONG    &    CO., 

74.3   &   743    Broadway,   New  York. 


YC  IC2702 


M184149 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


